


Song As Old As Rhyme

by nomical



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff, Fusion of Disney Adaptation and Source Material, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 12:25:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10437705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomical/pseuds/nomical
Summary: A tale as old as time, re-imagined with our favourite skaters. Yuri Plisetsky longs for excitement and a life outside his boring village, but he gets more than he bargained for when his grandpa becomes the prisoner of a terrifying beast. Sacrificing his freedom, Yuri agrees to serve the rest of his grandpa’s sentence and takes up residence in the enchanted castle. But if the castle is his prison, then why does it feel so much more like home than his village ever did?





	

**Author's Note:**

> The big list of thanks! First, to claudine who was the one who made me aware of this fest and of course the mods for all their hard work. Thanks also to deheerkonijn and winstoneli for enabling me when I texted them on boxing day like, “lol this would make a great YOI au”. Extra special thanks to winstoneli for the beta work and the biggest thanks of all to [penguinplushie](http://penguinplushie.tumblr.com/) for the GORGEOUS art. Actual Disney Princess Yuri Plisetsky is perfect in every way <3\. [Go leave the art some love!](http://penguinplushie.tumblr.com/post/158814509083/illustration-for-song-as-old-as-rhyme-otayuri)
> 
> Disclaimer: I know that a handful of BatB/YOI crossover fics already exist but I haven’t read any of them. This was created purely from me watching the animated movie at Christmas and wanting to turn everything into a YOI au. This is also based 100% on the animated movie - I only saw the new movie a couple days ago and it was too late to work any of it into the fic. If you’re worried about the casting choices, I won’t spoil anything specific, but the theme of this fest is “happily ever after”.

Once upon a time, in a beautiful castle nestled deep in a remote wood, there lived a prince. But this was not a prince from the fairy tales; this prince was cold, and aloof, rarely seen by his subjects, and haughty and unpleasant when he was. One unremarkable winter night, an old woman arrived at the castle, begging a bed for the night in exchange for a single rose. Though the night was bitterly cold, it was nothing compared to the ice in the prince’s voice as he turned away, for what concern was it of his, if the woman froze to death? She warned him not to stand so far apart from his fellow man, and to let kindness into his heart, but her warnings fell on deaf ears, and he refused her again. His uncaring actions proved to be his undoing, as the door was no sooner shut than it was blown off its hinges, the old woman replaced by a beautiful sorceress. For his arrogance, the prince was cursed, and all inhabitants of the castle along with him. Gone were his good looks, his body now reflecting his beastly manners, his true form laid bare. But the sorceress was not without mercy. As a token of her faith in the prince, she left behind the rose with which she’d attempted to barter. Now enchanted, one petal would fall at the turn of the year. If the prince could to learn to love, and be loved in return, by the time the last petal fell, the curse would be broken. Besieged by grief, the prince locked himself in the castle and shut himself away from the outside world. But the prince had shunned his subjects for so many years that they noticed very little change, and soon forgot they had ever had a prince at all. As the years passed, the castle received no visitors, and morale among the inhabitants began to fail. The prince fell into a deep despair, and lost all hope of ever meeting his equal, for who could ever love a beast?

***

Seven Years Later

In a sleepy village not so far away, a rooster took to a fence post and began crowing. One by one, residents came to life and businesses began to open. The heavenly scent of fresh bread wafted through the town square as the baker went about his deliveries. Neighbours exchanged hellos as they passed on their way to work. And from the lone house on the hill, Yuri Plisetsky made his way down the path towards town. The path, like the house, was a little crooked and a handful of the stones were loose and wobbly, but Yuri knew where to step and was light on his feet if he forgot.

Today’s errands were less than exciting, however necessary. The only part of his trip he was looking forward to was stopping by the butchers to get his skates sharpened. Winter was still weeks away and it would probably be a week or two after that before the pond froze enough, but Yuri wanted to be ready for the first freeze just in case. The rest of his errands were the same as always: pick up their flour from the miller, drop off the repaired shears at the barber’s, and collect whatever else was broken for his Grandpa, Nikolai, to tinker with.

Hitching his skates up higher on his shoulder, Yuri sighed. There was something so pedestrian about it all. Say hello to Mrs. Kuznetov at the blacksmiths, good day to Mr. Sokolov at the dairy, and oh there she is – almost late, how are you to Miss. Smirnov with her basket of flowers. Surely there was more to life than this.

Yuri didn’t share his feelings on town life with anyone, largely because he didn’t have any friends to share them with. Beyond niceties, Yuri didn’t speak to any of the townspeople. Everywhere he went, their whispers followed him: he’s so peculiar, there’s something odd about that one, why is he so angry all the time? The gossip around him was so rampant that Yuri believed it to be one of the village’s favourite hobbies. The popular theory revolved around his parent’s death – because nothing says drama like growing up an orphan. Some of the nastier ones speculated abuse in the home. Others just assumed it was because he was an unpleasant person. None of them ever bothered to ask. Of course, they never said any of this to his face, but they didn’t bother waiting until he was out of earshot either. Nikolai always reminded him to hold his head up high and not to give anyone that spoke nasty things the time of day. The problem was, that meant ignoring the entire town. He had long since isolated himself from anyone his own age. He wasn’t content to stay put and follow in his parent’s footsteps like the rest of his peers – this was partly due to Yuri’s parents having died and partly because he hated the small mindedness that seemed to affect the villagers, regardless of age.

So Yuri kept mostly to himself. He skated and read and had other singular hobbies. He helped his grandpa in the shop, took care of the housework and the errands, and was the model grandson in every way. He went for walks and explored the nearby forest and other areas that are the haunt of the lonely. But life was fine, mostly. It was mostly fine. He could deal with being alone, because it was better than having to deal with the villagers. The only remotely interesting thing to do in the village was fight with J.J., and that in and of itself was a testament to how boring life was in the countryside. Jean-Jacques Leroy was the town bully. A boorish man, he always seemed to find Yuri on his trips into town, even when he was careful to take the back alleys. J.J. was the product of small town life – an inflated ego born from very few peers to compete with, and the stalwart belief that he was God’s gift to mankind. He was brutal, handsome, had appalling manners, and insisted on carrying his hunting rifle with him everywhere. In short, he was everything Yuri despised. Even more unfortunate, in recent weeks, J.J. appeared to have come to the conclusion that Yuri would make the ideal spouse.

When Yuri had first heard the gossip (between the barber and the tinsmith as he made his rounds to the local businesses) he’d stormed home in a rage and spent the next two hours pacing around his grandpa’s workshop.

“Can you imagine? Of all the idiotic gossip to spread around, that’s what they’re occupying their time with.”

“He does seem rather taken with you, Yurochka,” replied Nikolai from somewhere beneath the machine he was tinkering with.

“Taken with me?” Yuri scoffed. “He doesn’t know the first thing about me!”

“He talks to you often.”

“He talks _at_ me often. I don’t think we’ve ever discussed my interests once.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Mrs. Moskovitz did enquire into your engagement when she was here yesterday collecting her watering can.”

“My _what_?” Yuri screamed.

“It seems this is more than idle talk.”

“Oh my god. How dare he. How _dare_ he spread that trash around.”

Nikolai eased himself out from under his invention. His eyes were magnified to comical proportions by the lens of the glasses he wore for doing fine detail work on his inventions, but there was nothing funny about his downturned expression.

“Don’t be cruel, Yurochka.”

“Cruel?” Yuri gaped. “Grandpa, he’s telling people we’re getting _married_!”

“There are worse things in life than someone wanting you.”

“He doesn’t want me,” Yuri scoffed. “He wants to possess me, like one of those revolting stuffed animals he’s always mounting on his walls.”

“You paint a grim picture.”

“I’m not marrying him.” Yuri grabbed a tool at random from the workbench and began to tap an angry staccato against his leg. “I refuse. I’d rather be drawn and quartered.”

“Always with the drama, Yuri.” Koyla rolled his eyes and gently pried the tool from Yuri’s grip. “You know my mind; I would never make you marry against your will.”

Something of the fury in Yuri’s face melted away.

“Thank you, Grandpa!”

“Like I could get you to do something you did not wish to do,” Nikolai snorted. “Now, are you going to stand around gabbing all day, or will you come help me with this humdinger.”

Yuri rolled up his sleeves. “What are you building today?”

“I’m glad you’ve asked. This, my boy, will change the world! You see, the log is placed in the dock, here, and the axe comes down, chops it in half, and throws it onto your wood pile which should be somewhere over here. I’m entering it in the inventor's fair next week. It’s going to win first prize.”

“I’m sure it will, Grandpa,” said Yuri, a fond smile playing around his lips.

***

The next week passed in an infuriatingly similar fashion to the week prior and the one before that because nothing different or exciting ever happened in town. There was some brouhaha going on about the possibility of expanding the library, which was an excellent excuse for a lot of opinionated people to engage in their favourite hobby of yelling and making speeches. Yuri avoided town even more than usual, but to his horror, J.J. took this as an invitation to start making house calls.

“I haven’t seen your pretty face all week,” he drawled, leaning against the door frame. “Where have you been?”

“I’ve been busy,” said Yuri, shortly.

“With what, feeding the chickens?” J.J. let out a booming laugh like he’d just invented the concept of humour.

“With my grandpa. He’s working on an important project.”

“Your grandpa?” J.J. snorted. “That old loon needs all the help he can get.”

Yuri resisted the urge to punch him in the face.

“My grandpa is a brilliant man.”

“Sure he is. It’s not like he set the pub on fire that one time. Or caused a stampede through the market. Or lives outside of town because he’s banned from creating his mad machines within town limits – oh wait, all of that’s true.”

Yuri could feel his face heating up. “Just because he’s had a few setbacks, doesn’t mean he’s not a genius.”

“You’re really cute when you’re angry,” J.J. winked.

Yuri slammed the door in his face.

***

“Are you sure you don’t need an assistant?” asked Yuri for the twelfth time, pinning a brooch onto his grandpa’s worn, green traveling cloak.

“I’m old, not infirm,” Nikolai scoffed as he heaved himself up on his horse, Pirozhki. “Besides, who would feed the chickens?”

“Fine,” Yuri sighed.

“Yurochka, enough of this stormy mood,” said Nikolai, cutting straight to the point. “You’re more than capable of taking care of this situation with J.J. by yourself.”

“Yeah, with a swift kick to the-“

“With your words like an adult. Your eighteenth birthday is less than a month away and you will no longer be able to hide behind your youth. The villagers will expect you to take a profession and contribute to the welfare of the town. Take this time while I’m away to think about what it is you want from life.”

“I already know what I want: excitement! But I’m not likely to see any around here, am I?” Yuri passed Nikolai his satchel.

“I always knew you would outgrow this town and me one day,” Nikolai sighed. “I had only hoped it would not be so soon.”

“I’ve outgrown the town grandpa, but never you.”

Nikolai leant down to cup Yuri’s face. “I’ll see you in a week, Yurochka.”

Yuri stood and watched until the back of the cart disappeared over the crest of a hill, feeling more alone than ever before.

***

Nikolai had only been gone two days before J.J. made his move. Yuri answered the door (conceding that if the booming knocks weren’t stopping after two minutes, they probably wouldn’t be stopping period) after a quick peek through his Grandpa’s ingenious spy glass, to reveal that it was indeed J.J. attempting to break down the door.

“Yuri, I’ve come to make all your dreams come true,” said J.J., pushing his way into the house.

“You’re giving me a thousand kopek and leaving town?”

“No, silly,” J.J. winked at him. “I’ve come to make you my bride!”

His grandpa’s words about handling things like an adult echoing in his head, Yuri drew a breath, and very calmly kicked J.J. square in the gut, sending him flying through the still open door into the mud of the pig pen. Yuri caught the barest glimpse of an aisle, tent, and altar standing in the front yard before the band began to play and he saw red.

“Go fuck yourself!” he yelled, slamming the door shut for good measure.

Blood boiling, he could feel himself growing dangerously close to smashing everything in sight and decided to make a quick exit. Through the back door, behind the chicken coop, and over the fence, he ran through the field, kicking the stray leaves blowing in his path with vigour. He finally came to a halt when he ran out of ground to cover, the sheer cliff edge leading only to rocks below.

He had always liked this spot. There was something comforting about the cry of the gulls, the repetitive sound of waves crashing on rock, and the endless expanse of the sea reminding him that there was so much world to explore beyond the village. The lookout was his go-to spot when small town life became too much. He had barely caught his breath however when the sound of hooves and the rattling of wood broke his concentration. For one mad minute he thought it was J.J. with a portable chapel in a last ditch effort to wed him. But turning around revealed a very different sight.

Pirozhki, still pulling the cart with his grandpa’s prized invention, was trundling through the field towards Yuri – rider-less.

The remaining flames of anger were quickly extinguished by dread. Closing the gap between them, Yuri took hold of the reigns and laid a hand on Pirozhki’s neck. The horse was hot to the touch and trembling.

“What’s the matter? What happened? Where’s grandpa?” he asked, fear pervading every word.

He didn’t expect an answer of course, but pausing for a response gave him a moment to think. Clearly something had gone wrong; Nikolai would never send Pirozhki off on his own. The chopper and saddle bags were still intact, so clearly it wasn’t bandits. There was no sign of blood either (thank God) so there was no reason to panic.

Refusing to cave to nerves, Yuri led Pirozhki carefully through the field back to the house. It was a small blessing that J.J. and the crowd had disappeared – he didn’t need an audience right now. He led Pirozhki back to the barn and tipped some food into his trough. Pirozhki’s needs met, Yuri rushed into the house and began packing at whirlwind pace. Food, bandages, blankets – anything that could be of use in an emergency. The last thing he grabbed on his way back to the barn was his blue cloak which he tossed hastily around his shoulders.

Pirozhki had finished eating and was standing alert, his eyes on Yuri, like he knew what was about to happen. Yuri made quick work of unhooking the wagon and loading his saddle bags.

“I need you to take me back. I need you to show me where to look,” he said, lifting a hand to scratch between the horse’s ears.

He swung up onto Pirozhki’s back. “I need you to help me bring him home.”

Pirozhki trotted forward with no further prompting.

The sun had just began to set when they entered the forest. Yuri resisted lighting his lamp for as long as possible. He was determined to stay in the forest until they found his grandpa which would mean rationing the oil. The forest path was damp, grooves from Pirozhki’s wagon still visible in the earth. They followed the tracks until the first split in the road where Yuri drew in the reins and frowned.

The invention fair his Grandpa had set out for was in Moscow, but the wagon tracks led down the path with a sign whose writing had all but worn off. It was completely possible that Nikolai had taken the wrong road; his brilliance was reserved for inventing, and in result, many day to day thoughts got lost in favour of designing a brilliant new contraption. But maybe Pirozhki had bolted from the scene and cut through the forest in fright, landing on this path by accident?

Taking a deep breath, Yuri dug in his heels and steered Pirozhki down the path to the unknown. They would follow the wagon tracks for as long as possible – they were the best lead he had.

“Adventure should come with advance warning,” he said ruefully. This was not the excitement he’d had in mind.

Pirozhki remained silent.

Which is how their journey progressed. Yuri was forced to light the lamp far earlier than he wanted to, but it was either that or make camp until morning. The deeper they went, the thicker the silence felt around them. It was eerily quiet, this part of the forest – even the mournful howl of wolves that had worried them earlier in the journey had stopped. And though it was dark, Yuri was certain the addition of sunlight would reveal a complete absence of wildlife.

Hours passed before Yuri saw anything to reassure himself that they were on the right path. But at the next fork in the road, Yuri gasped.

Caught in a low hanging branch, was a scrap of green cloth, unmistakably torn from the very cloak he’d helped his grandpa tie on two nights prior.

Spurring Pirozhki on, Yuri plucked the scrap from the branch and rubbed his thumb against it softly. He’d know this faded pattern anywhere. A quick scan of the ground showed no footprints, and though the tracks were fainter here, the grooves from the wagon remained. They must be getting close.

They moved slower now, Yuri swinging the lantern back and forth across the path, the marks getting harder to track. The feeling of panic was growing again, a mounting sense of urgency building. Why was it just this scrap that was torn? More importantly, why had his grandpa been in such a hurry that he couldn’t stop to untangle his cloak?

Rounding a bend in the path, Pirozhki suddenly drew up short. Yuri’s head popped up, preparing for the worst. But what he saw was nothing he could have dreamed of.

Looming ahead was a gargantuan palace, all dark stone and spiraling towers. Dark figures lined the battlements, too far away to make out but somehow Yuri doubted they were angels or some other friendly spectre. The overbearing castle had an air of gloom draped upon it and the tall, ornate iron gate clearly told prospective visitors to keep out. Save for the part where the gate was open, just wide enough to let a man pass through.

“Grandpa.” The word fell from his lips, unbidden.

Angling the reigns, Yuri directed Pirozhki through the gates, but they had no sooner crossed the threshold than the horse resisted. No matter how he kicked or flicked the reigns, Pirozhki refused to move any closer to the castle.

“Fine,” Yuri snapped, impatience getting the better of him. “Stay here.” He dismounted harder than he intended, his calves shaking from the impact, and wrapped the reins around one of the gate posts. Despite the eerie silence of the forest, he paused just long enough to drag the gate shut behind him. He didn’t trust that the forest was completely devoid of life.

The craggy cobblestone path leading to the castle was missing several stones. Some were tipped on their sides, angled like something heavy had landed on them. Others were chipped and cracked. Some were removed altogether, ripped out of the ground, smashed remains littering the bridge. Yuri made his way through the debris field, deftly jumping over the obstacles in the quickest route to the large door.

The door was easily three times taller than he was and looked to be fashioned from heavy wood. Yet when he placed a hand on the gold bronze knocker, it opened easily at the touch. This, more than anything else about the castle, sent a prickle of fear down his spine. It did not bode well that he was admitted so easily. But his fear for his grandpa overrode the fear for himself and he strode inside.

If the outside had been impressive, it was nothing to how awe inspiring the interior was. Rich velvet carpet lined the floor and stretched down every hallway and staircase in sight. Tables with gold inlay lined the halls and held a vast assortment of vases and statues. The floors were pure white marble and created a mirror like sprawl which covered every inch of the floor, save where the pillars sprung up to meet the ceiling. Strangely, though the outside looked like some sort of battle had taken place, the inside was pristine and untouched. How odd then, that, wherever he turned, Yuri saw no sign of life.

“Hello? Grandpa?” he called out, his voice reverberating off the smooth walls.

There was no response.

Steadying himself, Yuri pressed onwards, making his way towards the grand staircase. Perhaps his grandpa was taking shelter and was simply asleep in a bedroom, or perhaps he was being treated in the infirmary. Either way, there didn’t appear to be anyone on the ground floor.

He reached the second floor and was greeted with the same stony silence as downstairs. He stood in a massive hallway with dozens of doors, only the closest few visible in the dim moonlight streaming in through the stain glass windows. Desperately searching for a sign, he was about to push the nearest door open, when the unmistakable sound of a creaking hinge stopped him.

“Hello?”

He was greeted with silence yet again.

“No wait, come back!” he cried, not sure if anyone was listening.

He moved down the hall towards the source of the creek and found one of the doors open. Cautiously, Yuri peered around the door just in time to see a faint light bobbing gently up the spiral stairs, like someone was ascending several floors up.

“Please!” Yuri sprinted for the staircase, cloak flying out behind him.

He took the stairs two at a time, expecting to catch up with the light bearer at any moment, but he reached the small stone room at the top and found himself at a dead end with no one in sight. A single candelabra stood lit in an alcove and beyond it, nothing but a plain wooden door. He pushed it open.

Gone was the finery of the first two floors. Moonlight flooded the room in patches, perforating the badly damaged roof. The walls were rough-hewn and no decorative carpet or fancy tables lined the walls. In fact, the only thing that broke up the stone were short stretches of iron bars: he was standing in a prison.

 Supremely unnerved, Yuri turned to leave and begin his search of the lower levels, when a cough made him whirl round.

“Grandpa?” Yuri’s heart hammered louder than his footsteps as he ran towards the last cell.

“Yuri?” His Grandpa’s voice was weak but the mere sound of it filled Yuri with relief.

He dropped to his knees and thrust a hand through the bars, crushing them together in a hug. Even through the thin layer of fabric between them, Nikolai’s skin felt like ice.

“I don’t understand. Why are you here? Why are you locked up?”

“Never mind that,” Nikolai broke off in a fit of coughs. “You need to get out of here.”

“What?” asked Yuri, incredulous. “I’m not leaving without you!”

“You must! You’re in grave danger. This castle holds a terrible monster!”

“A what?”

A deep growl issued from somewhere behind Yuri, and he didn’t need to look to know whatever it was would be blocking the door. Without warning, something gripped him by the shoulder and flung him away from the cell. He kicked out but his foot missed the target, instead sending his lantern flying straight into the wall where it sputtered and died. Landing hard, Yuri rolled over and sprung to his feet, back against the wall, ready to face his attacker.

“Yuri!” Nikolai cried.

Yuri ignored him and kept his eyes on the hulking figure before him. The creature was easily eight feet tall, perhaps taller, though it was hard to tell with just moonlight for illumination – particularly since the beast seemed to be purposely avoiding walking directly into a beam. It was intelligent then. But Yuri could see enough: the shine of its claws, the long tail that dragged behind it, and the dark black fur that covered every inch visible beneath the clothes.

“Who are you?” asked Yuri.

“The master of this castle,” the beast responded, its voice low and dangerous. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve come to rescue my grandfather.”

“Then you have come for no reason.” The beast darted to the right and Yuri moved to keep the distance between them even. “He was caught trespassing in my castle and stealing my food. He is my prisoner.”

“My grandpa is a good person, I’m sure he wouldn’t have done any of that if he’d known it was wrong.”

“Yuri, please,” Nikolai begged.

“That doesn’t change anything. He is guilty and must carry out his sentence.”

“Just run!” Koyla tried again. “You need to-” The end of his sentence was lost in another fit of wet, laboured coughs.

It took all of Yuri’s willpower to keep facing forward and not rush to his grandpa’s side.

“Can’t you see he’s sick!” Yuri shouted. “If he stays here he could die!”

“That’s none of my concern. The sentence must be served.”

Running on instinct alone, Yuri took a step closer to the beast. Behind him, Koyla gasped for breath. There was nothing else for it - he had to free his grandpa.

“Does he have to be the one to serve the time?”

The beast paused its relentless pacing. “What do you mean?”

Drawing himself up to his full height, Yuri closed the gap leaving just a single moonbeam standing between them.

“Take me instead.”

“You?” the beast snarled. “You would…take his place?”

“Yuri, no!” Nikolai cried frantically.

Yuri allowed himself to look back at the cell door at last. His grandpa was crushed against the bars, desperately reaching for Yuri. The fear etched on his face matched how Yuri felt, but it was time to be brave.

“If I did, you’ll let him go? And give him safe passage back to our village?”

“Yes,” the beast growled. “But you should know his sentence is for life.”

His grandpa was saying something, but the blood pounding in Yuri’s ears drowned him out. There was only one answer he could give. But he deserved to see what he was getting himself into.

“Then I agree on one condition: step into the light.”

The very shadows seemed to move before his eyes as the hulking creature complied. Yuri’s eyes travelled up from the clawed feet to the unnaturally barrel shaped chest, and finally came to rest on its face. A prominent lower jaw displayed two hooked fangs that pointed up and flanked either side of its snout. Curved horns that matched those on the demonic statutes in the castle below jutted out from above its ears.  A stripe of brown fur ran around its head and stood out from the sea of black, almost mimicking the illusion of a hairline. A heavy brow twisted into a scowl half obscured the only thing remotely human about the creature: a pair of striking, honey-brown eyes.

Unbidden, Yuri trembled at the terrible sight, but didn’t back away. Instead, he lifted his chin to look the beast in the eye.

“We have a deal.”

“Done,” the beast spat out, sweeping past Yuri to unlock the cell.

For all his bravado, Yuri couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t force his legs to move, even as his grandpa called out to him.

“Yurochka, no!”

A hand descended once more on his shoulder, causing Yuri to jump. But this time it was the familiar palm of his grandpa, rough from his years spent in the workshop. Like a small boy, Yuri opened his arms and clung to his grandpa with all the strength he had left.

Koyla cradled Yuri’s head to his chest, protectively. But Yuri knew it was no good. He’d made his bargain; there was no way for his grandpa to protect him from this.

“I’m old and I’ve lived my life, I’ll stay and you-” Koyla’s words were caught off as the beast grabbed his shoulder and dragged him bodily off of Yuri.

“No, wait!” Yuri closed his fist but it was too late. Nikolai’s fingers slipped out of his grip, leaving nothing but air behind. The beast slammed the door behind them, and the last thing Yuri saw of his grandpa was his hand, still outstretched, reaching for Yuri.

He heard him yelling long after he was gone from view; his grandpa’s sickness had clearly not taken all the fight out of him. Yuri didn’t know how long he stood there, afraid to move should his footsteps obscure any of the last words he would hear his grandpa speak. At long last, there was a thud and the words were silenced all together. Yuri ran to the window just in time to see the iron gates parting to let a horseless carriage pass through. Pirozhki whinnied, evidently frightened by the sight but still tied to the gate. Yuri watched until the carriage had completely vanished from view, and then continued to stare out the window, numb with shock.

Loud thuds announced the return of the beast, but he didn’t come through the door. Outside the prison, an unfamiliar voice spoke quietly.

“Um, Master?”

“What?” came the snarl of the beast.

The voice had a pleasing tenor to it, and didn’t sound intimidated by the monster. Maybe the beast wasn’t the castle’s only occupant after all.

“Perhaps since the boy will be staying with us for some time, he would prefer a room in the main castle to a cell.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” the beast growled.

The door creaked loudly behind him but Yuri continued to gaze out the window at the spot where the carriage had disappeared into the forest.

There was the sound of shuffling behind him, almost like the beast was hesitant to come any closer. This, amongst all the tragedy that had already transpired, made Yuri mad. Why should this creature be hesitant around him? How dare it pretend to be sensitive now when it had just forced that impossible choice on him?

“You didn’t let me say goodbye,” said Yuri, finally breaking his silence.

“What?”

“I’ll never see him again,” said Yuri, fury mounting with every word. “I’ll never see him again and you didn’t let me say goodbye!”

He finished his speech far louder than he began it, his voice echoing in the cramped cell. He thought he saw something like surprise flash across the beast’s face, but it was gone in an instant.

“Follow me to your room,” said the beast, gruffly.

It was Yuri’s turn to be surprised. “My what?”

“Do you want to live in a cell?”

“No.”

“Then follow me,” it snapped.

The beast grabbed the candelabra from the alcove and swept down the spiral staircase. Yuri followed, but maintained a careful distance. Now that the shock was wearing off, his emotions were coming back in full force and he refused to lose face in front of the monster. They passed corridor after corridor, each one lavishly decorated and flanked with hideous statues. Yuri barely registered the journey.

At last they came to a bright blue door. The beast pushed it open and Yuri walked through without acknowledging him.

The same melodic voice from the tower spoke again.

“Say something to him.”

Yuri didn’t turn around. He was close to the edge of losing it, and when he got upset there was a ten percent chance he’d cry, and a ninety percent chance he’d lash out and kick whatever was closest. He didn’t fancy losing a leg to the beast’s fangs, so he thought it best to concentrate on keeping it together.

“I hope you enjoy your stay,” said the beast, flatly.

The voice sighed.

The beast gave a low snarl and spoke again. “The castle is your home now. You’re free to go anywhere you want, anywhere – except the West Wing.”

“What’s in the West Wi-“

“It’s forbidden,” the beast snapped.

A second new voice spoke, this one softer and somehow friendlier. “Invite him to dinner.”

“You will...join me for dinner.” The beast seemed to be struggling with his words. “That’s not a request!”

Yuri whirled round, temper finally getting the better of him just as the door was slammed in his face. Fancy room or dungeon, he was still a prisoner, locked in his cell. Furious and grieving for his freedom, Yuri sank down on the bed and finally allowed himself to cry.

***

It was some time later before he was disturbed. A smart rap on the door roused him from a fitful sleep he hadn’t realized he’d slipped into.

“Who is it?” he called out, belated realizing it didn’t matter what answer came as he didn’t know anyone here.

“It’s Yuko.”

“What do you want?”

“We’ve come with a little pick me up.”

“Go away,” he mumbled, curling in on himself.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Your tea would get cold and I simply can’t allow it.”

“I don’t like tea.”

There was a scandalized gasp from the other side of the door.

“Tsk, everyone likes tea. Now please open up or I’ll be forced to fetch the Master.”

Yuri considered this for a moment before deciding a servant would be easier to deal with than the awful beast. Besides, he wasn’t entirely confident his eyes weren’t still red from crying and he refused to let the beast see him be vulnerable.

He opened the door a foot, intending to accept the tea and bolt it again. So it was to his very great surprise when a porcelain tea pot and cup hopped through the gap between his legs and into the room.

“There now, that’s better,” said the tea pot, smiling up at him.

Yuri blinked. What the fuck?

“I told you he was cute!” chirped the teacup to its companion.

Clearly the trauma of the day was making him hallucinate because tea sets didn’t have face. Or voices. Or move on their own.

“Shhh Phichit, don’t say that in front of him. He’s our guest, not a hunk of meat! Although…” the teapot winked at Yuri.

Definitely hallucinating. Keeping his eyes trained on the tea service, Yuri backed up until he bumped into the wardrobe.

“Careful!” said the wardrobe.

Yuri was not a person that was easily startled. Living with his grandfather from a young age had forced him to get used to all manner of bangs and explosions coming from the workshop in the middle of the night, and had taught him how to deal with a number of odd, invention related situations.

This was not one of them.

Yuri did the only reasonable thing he could think of, which was to jump on the bed.

“This isn’t real,” he said forcefully.

The teapot laughed. “I’m afraid it is. Not what I expected when I took the job, but then again I guess no one _plans_ on being enchanted.”

“Enchanted?”

“Of course we’re enchanted.” The teapot looked scandalized. “You didn’t think the Master was the only magic thing in this castle, did you?”

Yuri reflected on his short time at the castle: the way the door opened at just the touch of his hand, on the mysterious light that led him directly to the prison, on the horseless carriage that had carried his grandpa into the forest under its own power.

Oh.

“I guess I was a little preoccupied,” he said, sourly.

To his surprise, all three of the objects looked downfallen at his words.

“Of course you were,” said the teapot, gently.

“That was very brave of you,” the wardrobe agreed, tipping over until it was leaning beside him on the bed in an almost casual sprawl. “To save your grandpa like that.”

“Not many people would have it in them,” said the teacup.

Yuri prided himself on always having a comeback ready for anything said to him, but at this moment he found words failed him. Then again, he’d never been locked in a castle and comforted by enchanted furniture before – or were they humans enchanted into furniture? Either way, it was extremely awkward to be pitied by these strangers – furniture or not.

“Enough,” said the wardrobe, righting itself again, “he’s got to get dressed for dinner and we’re all going to make him cry again.”

“I don’t cry,” Yuri scoffed.

The wardrobe gave him a look of disbelief. “Did you forget I was in here with you the whole-time Mr…actually, what’s your name?”

“Yuri.”

The teacup lit up at this and did a happy little jig across the carpet. “Two Yuris? Wow! Viktor will be thrilled.”

Yuri frowned. “What do you mean, two Yuris?”

“Yuuri Katsuki is the Butler,” the teapot explained. “I’m sure you’ll meet him soon enough.”

“You have names?” asked Yuri, incredulously.

“I already said mine, didn’t I?” the teapot laughed. “I’m Yuko, Head Housekeeper. This one is Phichit,” she tipped her spout at the teacup, “Junior Housekeeper, and that wooden box of trouble is Mila, Head Lady's Maid.”

“Don’t worry, I’m very good at men’s fashion too,” Mila placated. “How do you feel about lace?”

Yuri was spared answering by a second knock on the door.

“What?” he snapped.

“Dinner is served!” It was the same voice that prompted the beast to make the initial invitation.

“I’m not going to dinner.”

“Oh, but you must!” said Mila emphatically.

“Yes, the Master has decreed it,” said the voice from the other side of the door.

Yuri sat down on the bed and crossed his arms. “He can decree all he likes, I’m not taking order from him.”

“I’m s-s-orry,” stammered the voice, “but there’s no way to refuse him. You simply must get dressed and come downstairs.”

“No,” said Yuri, flatly.

“Yuuri,” said Yuko, directing her words not at Yuri but at the door, “this is silly, just come in.”

“Ah, no. I’m supposed to return to the dining room to help with the service. What should I tell the Master?”

“Tell him whatever you want,” Yuri snapped, flopping back onto the mattress.

The voice outside the door sighed but gave no further response. Yuko glanced up Yuri, but he refused to give in, and met her gaze with a glare.

“Come along Phichit,” she sighed, hoping towards the door. “We don’t want to be in here when the Master finds out Yuri has defied his order.”

“If you need anything, come find us in the kitchen!” said Phichit brightly, hopping after Yuko.

Yuri rose just long enough to close the door behind them and slid the bolt into place. Whatever he said, he didn’t relish the thought of the beast storming into his room. He returned to the bed but found he was too agitated to sit.

“Alone at last,” Mila sang at him.

“Oh, I forgot about you.”

“You’re a real charmer,” said Mila, but there was no venom in her voice. “You really should think about going down to dinner though.”

“What is it with everyone around here jumping to attention for that monster?” challenged Yuri. “Is it because you’re afraid of it?”

“Well he is royalty.”

“What?”

“Yup. Prince Otabek, the last of the royal family.”

Yuri sank back onto the bed. “Prince Otabek…Otabek…why does that name sound familiar?”

“If you live within a day’s ride of this castle it means he’s your prince,” supplied Mila.

“Huh.” Yuri wracked his brain. He hadn’t heard any mention of royalty in the village. J.J. of course liked to think of himself as royalty, but the mayor was the head of the village and had the final say in matters of dispute. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. Although…

“How long has he been the prince?”

“Since birth.”

“No,” Yuri rolled his eyes. “I meant how long has he been _ruling_ as a prince. When was his coronation?”

“Why didn’t you just _ask_?” Mila tittered, leaning once more on the bed. “He was quite young when his parents were killed – their ship sank when they were away on a diplomatic mission – maybe eight or nine? I had just started working here with my auntie and I was five.”

A strange feeling of deja vu passed over Yuri. He hadn’t considered the beast ever being human, let alone being a child. But it had been, and moreover it had lost his parents at a young age, just like Yuri had.

“That’s awfully young to be given command of an entire kingdom,” Yuri commented. “There wasn’t a steward to take control until he was old enough?”

“No. He had advisors of course, and the staff tried their best to take care of him – Viktor especially, but I think the loss of his parents hit him very hard.” Mila sighed. “I can remember him as a boy – he used to have the most beautiful laugh. I don’t think I heard it again after they died.”

“He hasn’t laughed since he was eight? That explains a lot,” Yuri bit out.

“You mustn’t be too hard on him,” Mila chided. “He’s had a difficult life.”

“Yeah, I’m sure growing up in a palace surrounded by money and servants was so tough.            ”

“Tougher than you’d think,” said Mila, stubbornly. “All the money in the world can’t replace love.”

For the second time that day, Yuri found himself unable to come up with a retort. Things like, “at least he didn’t grow up in a hick town,” or “I lost both my parents _and_ grew up poor,” seemed very petty. He was saved from floundering however, when a booming roar echoed somewhere beneath them.

“Oh dear,” said Mila, blithely.

“Sounds like he got my message,” Yuri snickered.

Mila laughed. “Ooh, he’s going to have his hands full with you. This should be fun.”

Heavy footfalls sounded down the hall, pre-empting the beast’s arrival.

Yuri remained on the bed, forcing himself to stay calm. The beast was nothing more than an orphan with an attitude problem. With some of the mysticism gone, Yuri found it a lot easier to stand up to him. It was just like fighting one of the obnoxious townies.

Three loud knocks made the door rattle on its hinge.

“I thought I told you to come down to dinner,” the beast raged.

“I’m not hungry,” yelled Yuri.

“Come out or I’ll…I’ll break down the door.”

It was interesting. The beast seemed to act more on instinct than anything else. This wasn’t the first time Yuri had noticed him searching for a word or action to complete his sentence. It seemed he let his temper get the better of him more often than not – a quality of which Yuri was not entirely unfamiliar.

“Master,” said the first voice Yuri had heard in the prison, “I don’t know if that’s the best way to become friends with the boy.”

“That’s Viktor,” Mila mouthed at him.

“Manners never go amiss,” said the second voice – the other Yuuri.

“But he’s being so difficult,” the beast hissed.

Yuri had to laugh at that. Clearly the beast underestimated just how difficult he could be. His years of fighting with J.J. were finally going to be good for something.

“Gently,” said Yuko. “Don’t frighten him.”

There was a great sigh from the other side of the door. “Will you come down for dinner?” asked the beast, in the dullest tone Yuri had heard from him yet.

“No,” he replied.

The beast let out a loud snort.

“It wouldn’t hurt to be polite,” said Yuuri.

“It would be a great honour if you could join me for dinner,” the beast grit out.

Someone coughed which prompted a short, “please,” out of the beast.

Yuri amused himself with an image of the beast sweeping into a low bow. He was at least making an effort to be polite, despite the whole jailor thing, so Yuri decided to be polite back.

“No thank you.”

“You can’t stay in there forever!” the beast yelled, his speech returning to his usual shouting.

“Yes I can,” Yuri barked back, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Fine, then go ahead and starve!” the beast roared. “You two, stand guard. If he doesn’t eat with me, he doesn’t eat at all.”

The sound of claws scraping on marble announced the departure of the beast.

“You liked that,” said Mila.

“Maybe a little,” Yuri smirked.

***

Several hours passed before hunger finally drove Yuri from his room. He spent most of the time talking with Mila who, for a wardrobe, was actually a fairly good conversationalist. Except for the interest she took in his non-existent love life. Yuri assumed she was trying to live vicariously through him, as she had been a wardrobe fore some time.

He pushed open the door as quietly as he could and crept into the corridor. The beast had indicated that two of his servants were to stay behind on guard, but what were they? He glanced suspiciously at a nearby suit of armor, but when nothing moved decided to carry on.

He made it as far as the first window when he heard voices and froze. The long curtains hung down past the window frame and onto the floor, creating the perfect hiding place for two smallish objects that didn’t want to be seen. Sure enough, as Yuri watched, the curtain twitched and showed definite signs of life behind it.

“Viktor, we really should be on guard right now. The Master said-”

“But Yuuri, it’s been so long since I held you.”

“You just held me this morning.”

“I know, so long ago!”

So much for having to outsmart his guard then. Yuri tiptoed past the window, wishing he could move faster and put the distinct sound of smooching behind him. He travelled on and ducked into the first side door he found to take the serving tunnels down to the kitchen. His efforts were promptly rewarded, as the sound of pots clanging and the unmistakable smell of cooking soon greeted his nose. Stomach rumbling, he came to the end of the hallway and was greeted with the most beautiful sight: the kitchen.

“I slave all night and for what? My meal goes uneaten,” howled the stove.

“Pipe down, Yakov,” sighed Yuko. “It’s been a long night for all of us.”

“Well if you ask me, that boy is just being stubborn,” Yakov grumbled. “What kind of person refuses food?”

“I’ll take it now if there’s any left,” said Yuri by way of introduction.

“Hello again,” said Phichit, brightly.

“Yes, hello, Yuri” said a feather duster, brushing its way towards him. “I see why you’ve got the castle in quite the uproar.”

“Play nice, Christophe,” said Yuko, with just the hint of a warning in her words.

The sound of panting and metal tapping on stone caught Yuri’s attention before he could say anything else. He turned around to see a candelabra and a tabletop clock hopping towards him at top speed.

“Nice of you boys to finally join the party,” said Yuko.

“I thought you were supposed to be on guard,” said Phichit.

“Got…distracted…” the clock, whose voice Yuri knew made him Yuuri, gasped. “Candles…”

“I bet you did,” Christophe winked at him.

The candelabra recovered before Yuuri did. Drawing itself up to its full height of approximately one foot, it extended an arm to Yuri and bowed deeply.

“A pleasure to meet you at last, Yuri!” It smiled at him with an oddly heart shaped smile that jogged something in Yuri’s memory. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Viktor, Maître D’ of this fine estate. And this adorable bundle of nerves is Yuuri, chief worrywart and over thinker.”

“Head Butler actually,” said Yuuri, recovering at last. “And engaged to this one,” he jabbed a metal thumb in Viktor’s direction, “although at this point the wedding will probably never happen.”

“Yuuri, you wound me,” Viktor held a candle to his chest and deflated, the wax on his forehead drooping even lower over his eye. “Do you think I love you any less as a clock than when we were human?”

“Of course not!” The clock hands on Yuuri’s face stood up in alarm. “I just don’t think we’re going to be able to find a minister willing to come to an enchanted castle to marry a clock and a candlestick.”

“Candelabra,” Viktor retorted in mock outrage.

“This is all very cute,” Yakov interjected, “but I believe the boy said he wanted something to eat.”

“Wonderful!” Viktor perked up immediately. “We shall have a spread prepared for you at once!”

“Ah, do you think that’s a good idea?” asked Yuuri, looking nervously at the door. “Remember what the Master said.”

“Do you want to be the one to wake him up?” asked Yakov.

“No,” Yuuri replied.

“Good. Because I won’t have this boy go hungry in my kitchen.”

“It’s my kitchen,” said Viktor.

“And I’m not a boy,” said Yuri. “I’m nearly eighteen.”

“Excellent,” said Christophe.

Yakov just rolled his eyes, fire already springing to life on his front burners.

“Maybe just a quick supper,” said Yuuri hesitantly. “Some bread, perhaps?”

“Exactly,” said Viktor, throwing an arm around Yuuri, leading the way to the dining room. “Some bread and jam, a light soup, main, and of course dessert and we’ll have him back in bed before the Master even knows he’s left. What could go wrong?”

Yuuri groaned and cast a long suffering look back at Yuri who took this as his invitation to follow. He crossed through the kitchen into the dining room and was met with a view of the largest table he’d ever seen. It seemed ridiculous for anyone to need a table this size, but then again, Yuri wasn’t exactly an expert on the daily lives of princes. A chair pulled itself out for Yuri (which was highly unnerving given that this one didn’t have a face) and he had just about settled himself when a footstool came bounding into the room, barking happily.

“Shhh Makkachin,” Yuuri whispered, reaching up to halt the footstool.

Makkachin took this as an opportunity to bound straight into Yuuri’s arms, knocking him onto his back.

“Hello,” Yuuri giggled, covering his face as Makkachin did his best to lick it clean.

“Makkachin, say hello to our guest, Yuri,” said Viktor.

Immediately, Makkachin sprung up and trotted obediently over to Yuri, scooting under his legs to prop them up.

“He’s a good boy,” said Viktor affectionately, watching the panting footstool, “but keep your eye on him around the table. He’s been known to sneak food off of plates.”

Yuri was soon too preoccupied with sampling dish after dish of delicious food to ruminate on whether or not enchanted footstool dogs could poop. Even Viktor’s plan of a modest four-course meal was blown out of the water as the servants made dinner a spectacular production. They brought him what seemed like the entire store of food, and Yuri tried a little bit of everything. He grew a little sad when they brought out a plate of steaming pirozhkis – his grandpa’s speciality – but Yuuri noticed the downturn in his attitude and had them whisked away in a heartbeat.

“Try this one next, it’s my – _was_ my favourite,” he said, offering Yuri a steaming bowl.

Yuri took a tentative sniff. “What is it?”

“Katsudon. Rice, pork, and egg. There’s no better combination!”

“I miss your mother’s katsudon,” sighed Viktor. “She makes it the best.”

“Yes,” Yuuri smiled, “but I’d rather her not see me as a clock.”

“This is amazing,” said Yuri, shoveling rice into his face like he hadn’t already gorged himself on half the pantry. “How long have you guys been stuck like this?”

“Ten years.”

Yuri nearly choked on the egg.

“ _Ten years_. You haven’t seen your family in ten years? And they haven’t come looking for you.”

“We still write,” said Yuuri. “We send the carriage out sometimes so he doesn’t get bored.”

“Huh.”

Yuri ate the rest of his meal in silence, letting Viktor and occasionally Yuuri keep up a steady stream of conversation. When he at last ate his way to the bottom of his mousse cup, he dropped his spoon with a satisfied sigh.

“I hope that was to your liking,” said Viktor, ushering the spoon back to the kitchen.

“I’ve had better,” Yuri lied, though something about Viktor’s smile told him he saw through it.

“Goodness, is that the time?” asked Yuuri, looking down at his face. “You must be exhausted!”

“Actually, I’m wide awake,” said Yuri, getting to his feet and stretching. “I had a nap earlier.”

“Oh,” said Yuuri, sadly.

“Would you care for a tour?” asked Viktor. “We could escort you and get you acquainted with your new home.”

“Yes, that sounds wonderful,” said Yuuri. “Let’s all go together.”

“I don’t need chaperones,” Yuri huffed.

“Not chaperones. Think of us like tour guides!” said Viktor.

He jumped off the table towards the door at the far end of the room, Yuuri and Makkachin hopping along after him. Seeing no alternative, Yuri sighed and followed after his new babysitters.

A tour wasn’t exactly what Yuri had in mind, but it did give him some more insight into the castle. Yuuri did most of the talking, pointing out various works of art and telling the year they were created, while Viktor mostly stared at Yuri. It also gave Yuri some new information about the enchantment they were all under. Apparently they were free to say they were enchanted, but were prevented from talking about the exact nature of the enchantment: who had cast it, if and how it could be broken, why the prince was turned into a beast and the rest into objects. Viktor was clearly the weak link in the pair and came the closest to breaking the silence. But every time Yuri tried to ask a question, no matter how casual he was, Yuuri would interject before Viktor could answer.

“Sorry, I always forget we can’t talk about it,” he said, smiling his heart shaped smile the third time Yuuri stopped him.

“I remember you,” said Yuri, a long ago memory coming back to him in bits and pieces. “The human you. I saw you standing at the front of a crowd, smiling. Did the prince ever make public appearances?”

Viktor looked surprised. “Very rarely, but his coorination was a public affair. Everyone from the surrounding villages was invited. You were there?”

“Yes. I remember my grandpa put me up on his shoulders so I could see. It was…” he trailed off. He hadn’t known it at the time, but it would be the last day he saw his parents. The fire that consumed their home and took their lives had happened during the coronation. If the ceremony hadn’t happened, if his grandpa hadn’t offered to take Yuri, he wouldn’t be alive today.

“It was a very long time ago,” he finished, harsher than he’d intended.

Viktor seemed not to notice but Yuuri cast a curious glance back at him. For all his innocent looks and his nervous disposition, Yuuri was clearly not to be underestimated.

They entered another foyer, this one slightly less grand than the main entrance but still decorated with mostly hideous statues.

“Not a fan of the décor?” asked Yuuri, following Yuri’s gaze as he took in a Minotaur holding up a column.

“Not really my style. I’m more of a cat person.”

“They didn’t always look like that.” Yuuri sighed. “Most of the castle was transformed by the spell; doves turned into rats, angels to demons, you get the picture.”

Before he could help himself, Yuri heard himself ask, “Was the prince very handsome then?”

Blushing furiously, Yuri gazed upwards at a statue of a man with a lion’s head. He didn’t even know why he’d asked it.

Viktor, of course, answered the question completely straight-faced. “Oh yes, Prince Otabek was very handsome.”

“Though he was far too serious for a boy his age. The death of his parents caused him to grow up way too fast,” said Yuuri, wistfully.

Yuri stopped walking. “I don’t understand. Why does everyone keep defending him? You’re not slaves, you’re allowed to speak your mind. And don’t say it’s because he’s had a hard life. You can have a hard life and not be a dick.”

For the first time, Viktor looked a little ruffled. “Prince Otabek was a young boy who had his parents cruelly ripped away from him-”

“And grew into a cold and entitled man because none of his advisors had the heart to say no to him,” Yuuri finished. “You’re right of course,” he said, smiling sadly at Yuri. “There are many people out there who grew up in far worse conditions. But try to have some compassion for him. He is, after all, _trying_ to do right by you.”

“‘If he doesn’t eat with me then he doesn’t eat at all’ was him trying to be nice?” asked Yuri, incredulously.

“Believe it or not, yes.” Yuuri shrugged. “His social skills may still be appalling, but he was very much hoping the two of you could make amends over dinner.”

Yuri snorted. “Amends for locking up my grandpa or amends for locking me in this castle for the rest of my days? Either way, I’m not interested.”

He finished his examination of the statue and turned to head up yet another staircase only to find Viktor and Yuuri blocking his path.

“What’s up there?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Yuuri at the same time as Viktor said, “the West Wing.”

“Ahhhh.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri groaned.

“I wonder what he’s hiding up there,” Yuri mused.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” said Yuuri. “Shall we continue?”

“I want to see the West Wing.”

“It’s terribly boring,” Yuuri stammered. “Let’s look at something else. Are you a reader? Do you like books?”

Yuri craned his neck, trying to see what was through the door on the landing. “Not particularly.”

“Something outdoors perhaps? We have a wonderful hot spring in the grounds or we can see if the river has frozen enough for skating.”

That genuinely peaked Yuri’s interest. “You can skate here?”

“Can you ever,” Yuuri beamed at him. “The Master was quite fond of skating before his furry little problem manifested. And Viktor here won the servant’s cup for the last five pre-enchantment years in a row.”

“Really?” Yuri backed down off the step.

“We can see if any of the Master’s old skates fit you,” said Viktor, exuberantly. “Come, this way!”

The pair of them cantered happily down the stairs, Makkachin following close behind. Yuri turned to follow them, but remained standing where he was.

“The river itself is a fascinating piece of landscaping,” said Yuuri.

“Come Yuuri, don’t undersell it. It’s really more of a lake.”

Skating certainly did seem to be a popular subject. Yuuri and Viktor continued chatting as they wandered off, oblivious to the fact that Yuri wasn’t following. Indeed, as they made their way down to the doors that would lead into the gardens, Yuri was rapidly climbing the stairs to the West Wing. He was finally getting used to doors opening for him, but the sight behind this one unnerved him more than anything he’d seen in the castle so far.

Questionable décor aside, the rest of the castle was grand and meticulously clean, the servants evidently having nothing better to do all day than continue with its upkeep. But it was immediately evident why the West Wing was off limits. It was a disaster: every curtain hung in tatters, every table was smashed to splinters, the mirrors lay in fragmented pieces, and all the marble statues were missing various body parts. This was surely the beast’s private quarters.

Yuri paused in front of an oil painting. Huge claw marks made it so strips of canvas hung in shreds, but there was enough of it intact to make out two familiar, honey-brown eyes. He picked his way across the rubble, drawn to the painting and its piercing gaze. He drew closer and raised a hand, intent on fitting the mangled remains of the painting back together, when something else caught his eye.

In a room where every other piece of furniture was either overturned or smashed beyond repair, stood an untouched pedestal which held two objects. The first was a small silver mirror, fashionable but otherwise uninteresting, which lay facedown on the table. But Yuri only had eyes for the second object: a glass bell jar which held a single red rose. He crossed the room, transfixed on the glowing rose that seemed to be gently floating several inches off the table. Underneath it, several petals lay wilted and dead on the table, none of the ethereal beauty of the rose itself still lingered on them. As he drew level with the table, he thought he could see something emitting from the rose, small sparks perhaps, or maybe orbs. No matter which way he turned, the rose followed him, its blossom always pointing directly at him, almost like it was meant for him. Mesmerized, he carefully lifted the bell jar and placed it on the floor beside him. Reaching out, he raised his hand to touch one of the petals when a dark shadow fell over him: the beast.

Yuri didn’t have time to process where he had come from, only that beast looked downright furious. A single leap placed him between Yuri and the table. He snatched up the bell jar and placed it delicately back over the rose before turning to glare at Yuri.

“Why did you come here?” he hissed.

All trace of the rose’s hypnotic magic gone, Yuri realized how incredibly rash he’d been to disobey this particular order. The beast looked positively wild with rage.

“I’m sorry,” said Yuri truthfully. This wasn’t the time for games.

The beast growled and Yuri instinctively took a step back.

“I didn’t mean any harm.”

“Do you realize what you could have done?” the beast yelled.

He raised a giant paw and Yuri flinched, but the blow landed nowhere near him. The shattered remains of the table the beast drove his fist into splintered even further.

 “Get out,” the beast bellowed, smashing a wardrobe in half with one swoop of his arm. “ _GET OUT!”_

Yuri didn’t need to be told again – he ran.

He didn’t stop running, down the corridor, all but leaping down the stairs. Never before had he been so afraid. A stitch tore at his side but he ignored it. On the first floor landing he spotted his cloak hanging from a coatrack and he flung it around his shoulders on his way town the main staircase. He was halfway across the foyer before Yuuri and Viktor hopped into view; evidently looking for their missing charge.

“Where are you going?” cried Viktor.

“I’m leaving, promise or no promise.” The front door opened once more at his touch. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Oh no wait,” Yuuri begged. “Please wait!”

A blast of cold air hit him in the face and instantly chilled him, but Yuri didn’t stop. Fighting his way through the gathering snow, he spotted Pirozhki in a small stable near the front gate. Miraculously, whoever had stabled him there hadn’t untacked him.

They burst through the gates, Yuri pushing Pirozhki as fast as he would go, desperate to put as much space between him and the beast as possible. Would the beast send soldiers after him? Did he even have an army anymore? Yuri didn’t care what happened next. He would get home and pack, and then take Grandpa and Pirozhki far, far away. To a different country even. Anything, to never see that look on the beast’s face again.

The further they went, the deeper the snow got. Yuri couldn’t tell if they were on the path anymore – nothing looked familiar covered in snow. When Pirozhki burst through the trees into a clearing, Yuri knew they were in trouble; the route to the castle had been nothing but trees. To make matters worse, Pirozhki had rode straight into a flock of birds. The flock took to the air, causing the horse to rear up in fright. As Yuri tried to steady the horse, a low snarl alerted him to a much larger problem: wolves. At least half a dozen of them, closing in from all sides.

Snorting in fright, Pirozhki took off galloping through the widest open, Yuri hanging on for dear life. The wolves kept pace, snapping at Pirozhki’s tail, more and more of them joining the chase. They were corralling them, Yuri realized. He pulled hard to the left on the reins, causing Pirozhki to veer off whatever trail the wolves were leading them on. It was hardly a triumph though, as a loud boom was the only warning they got before Pirozhki tumbled through the ice and into the freezing water of the river. Desperate to keep his head above water, Yuri urged Pirozhki on. A few of the wolves braved jumping in the water and were swiftly caught up in the current, but the majority stayed on the ice, jumping from flow to flow to get keep up with their quarry. By some miracle, the water never came up past the horse’s neck, and Pirozhki was able to heave himself up on the opposite bank.

Pirozhki moved understandably slower after that, but the wolves remained unaffected by their crossing. It wasn’t long until their speed overtook Pirozhki and two of them leapt across his path. Whining in fright, Pirozhki reared up, throwing Yuri off his back and tangling his reigns in a low hanging branch in one horrible motion. Aching, Yuri pulled himself up from the snowbank, already looking for a weapon. A decent sized branch lay in the snow inches from him, and he dove for it just as a wolf lunged for him. He grabbed the branch and swung it around, catching the wolf in the middle, sending it crashing into its pack fellow. A well tossed rock caught another one that was stalking towards Pirozhki, but they were still vastly outnumbered.

Yuri made his way back to the bucking horse, careful to avoid his legs as Pirozhki deflected another attack. He didn’t dare drop his branch, but he had to get the reins free or they were both dead. Two of the wolves moved in for a synchronized attack. Yuri took aim and swung at the closest one, but the second was ready, its jaw closing on the branch, tearing it from Yuri’s hands. Another snapped at his ankle, forcing him to move away from Pirozhki to avoid the bite. Across from him, a wolf hunkered low and leapt towards him. He ducked and missed the direct assault, but another caught the hem of his cloak in its jaws and yanked, pulling him to the ground. He was trapped, with no way of defending himself. The largest wolf of the lot growled low in its throat as is slunk towards him. This was clearly the alpha, coming to finish him off and take the first bite, but Yuri wouldn’t die without a fight. Arm drawn up to protect his face, he waited, leg tense and ready to kick when the time was right. The wolf crouched and sprang forwards. Yuri reacted, but his timing was off and kick fell short. The wolf’s aim was true, it was going to land right on his face, the lethal bite just moments away. But it never came. For instead of landing on him, the wolf was caught by the outstretched arm of the beast.

Flipping over, Yuri watched the beast haul the wolf up until it was level with his face, roaring as he hurled it back into the pack. The wolves howled, enraged at the attack on their leader. Yuri and Pirozhki forgotten, all their attention was on the new threat. The beast hunkered low, covering Yuri with his body in a protective crouch. Fear does strange things to the mind, and the only thing Yuri could think as the beast sprang over him to take on the pack was, _he must have started after us the moment we left_.

The battle was brutal and evenly matched. The wolves were skilled in coordinating their attacks, but they lacked the raw power of the beast. In combat he was absolutely feral, using every weapon in his arsenal against the wolves. They swarmed him mercilessly, and in moments his cloak was torn to shreds. One managed to grab hold of his back and he howled, while the alpha used this distraction to take hold of his forearm. Never one to sit idle, Yuri grabbed another rock and took aim, succeeding in winding the one on the beast’s back. The rock wasn’t large enough to do any real damage, but it loosened the wolf’s grip enough that the beast got the upper hand and shook it off. The alpha was met with a worse fate though, as the beast swung his arm round to shake it off and smashed it against the side of a hefty oak tree. The wolf’s jaw slackened at once and it fell, its body lying still in the snow. The effect was instantaneous; their leader dead and several of their number wounded, the remaining wolves scattered back to the woods.

Yuri didn’t move from his crouch on the ground, eyes fixed on the beast, unsure of what he would do now that the battle was over. Bloodied arm leaning on the tree for support, the beast’s eyes found his, and Yuri was surprised to see none of the bloodlust remained. The beast opened his mouth, but no growl came out. Instead, he let out a surprisingly soft moan and toppled to the ground where he lay, unmoving.

Yuri’s first instinct was to untangle Pirozhki’s reins and keep riding. Surely the beast wasn’t seriously injured. He would be out for maybe an hour or two before regaining his strength, and it would give Yuri the advantage he needed to make a swift getaway. But he couldn’t bring himself to mount Pirozhki. The beast had just saved his life, and at great personal risk. Had this been the improvement Yuuri had told him about? And what would his grandpa say when he returned to the house. He’d be thrilled to see him of course, but his grandpa was a man of honour. How would he react when he learned Yuri’s escape was not due to his own daring, but to the sacrifice of the beast?

Clinging to Pirozhki’s reigns, Yuri tried to imagine a world where he didn’t grow up with his grandpa in his life. Would he have grown as cold and as hostile? Would he have been any better than the beast without his grandpa there to act as his moral compass? Was he any better with him? Hadn’t he thrown his fair share of fits, at J.J. and at the world at large? He was just as guilty at letting his temper get the better of him.

With a heavy sigh, Yuri shook Pirozhki’s reins free from the branch and led him over to the beast. He was still out cold. With great difficulty, Yuri was able to lift the beast enough for Pirozhki to kneel and accept the weight. He used the tattered remains of the beast’s cloak to wrap the wound on his arm and set off back towards the castle.

***

The walk back seemed to drag on for ages. Adrenaline rush over, Yuri was exhausted and chilled to the bone from their unexpected swim. The beast roused just shy of the castle gates and dismounted, insisting on walking the rest of the way. He cradled his arm against the snowy wind, but seemed otherwise unharmed, if a little awkward. Perhaps he didn’t know what to do with himself now that there was nothing to fight or shout about.

A host of servants met them at the front door. Yuko and Phichit hopped off straight away to fetch hot water and Christophe produced a clean cloth. Yuuri corralled Makkachin into place in front of the beast’s chair and Viktor lit the fire, which warmed the room in no time at all. Yuri stood off to the side, watching the proceedings. Now that they were back safely, he felt a little awkward and more than a little useless. In his chair, the beast gingerly removed the bindings and began to lick at his wound.

“Don’t do that,” said Yuri, moving into the room properly. “It’ll get infected. Who knows what that wolf had in its mouth before your arm.”

The beast frowned at him and continued to lick at the wound.

Rolling his eyes, Yuri crossed to where Yuko was standing with the other servants and tipped some hot water into the bowl so he could wet the cloth.

“No, really. Let me help,” said Yuri, lifting the cloth to the beast’s arm.

Like an overgrown child, the beast refused to present his arm, moving it this way and that to prevent Yuri from gaining access to the wound.

“Just, hold, still,” Yuri ground out.

At last he was successful, pressing the cloth against the wound, causing the beast to roar in pain.

“That hurt!” he bellowed so forcefully that Yuri’s hair blew back in the wind.

Behind him, he heard the soft tapping of metal and porcelain on stone; the servants were retreating and preparing for the worst. But Yuri wasn’t going to let him spiral out of control again.

“If you’d just hold still it wouldn’t hurt as much,” he said, sternly.

“If you hadn’t of run away, this never would have happened!” The beast gestured to his arm, a distinctly smug expression on his face.

“If you hadn’t of screamed at me to ‘get out’, I wouldn’t have left!” Yuri argued.

The beast considered him for a moment, clearly looking for another avenue of attack.

“Well, you shouldn’t have been in the West Wing!” he said with the tone of someone who’s just won their argument.

“Well you should learn to control your temper!” Yuri shot back.

The beast open his mouth but nothing came out, as if Yuri had said the one thing the beast couldn’t argue against. It was surreal, thought Yuri, that the beast actually seemed to be thinking about what had been said. Normally, his arguments with J.J. ended with a door being slammed or Yuri just up and leaving. How could it be that the beast was engaging more with one argument than J.J. had ever done in a lifetime of knowing him?

“Are you done being a baby?” asked Yuri, re-wetting the cloth.

The beast scowled at him but made no attempt to hide his injury.

“Good. Hold still and it’ll be over soon.”

Yuri raised the cloth once more and this time the beast flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. Yuri did his best to be gentle, but the wolf’s teeth had gone deep.

“Thanks, by the way. For…for saving me,” Yuri finished, awkwardly. He was acutely aware of the servants clustered behind him and he wasn’t great with expressing gratitude at the best of times, let alone with an audience.

The beast, it seemed, fared no better. He bit out a gruff, “you’re welcome,” and looked away, staring intently at a carving on the mantelpiece like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

The heat emanating beneath Yuri’s palm from the beast’s arm suddenly felt too intimate, and Yuri dropped his hand. It was silly, that one civil conversation had sparked the beginning of what felt like trust between them, but then again, the beast had risked life and limb to save him. Perhaps the beast was thinking along similar lines, because he was the one to finally break the ice and speak again.

“Can we…start over?” he asked, one massive paw scratching the back of his head.

Yuri considered the offer. He was still a prisoner here, but life would certainly be more enjoyable if he didn’t have to fight all the time. He met the beast’s gaze levelly. They needed to start on equal ground.

“On one condition – tell me your name.”

“What?” the beast looked genuinely startled.

“If I’m going to live here, I can’t just call you ‘beast’ or ‘hey, you’,” Yuri scoffed. “So, what’s your name?”

The beast opened his mouth slowly, like his lips weren’t used to forming this particular word.

“Otabek. My name is Otabek.”

Yuri extended his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you, Otabek.”

***

It wasn’t like things changed overnight. The next morning was extremely awkward – because what do you say to the person who saved your life? Good morning, thanks again for yesterday, would you pass the sugar? Otabek also seemed like he was having trouble finding something to say. With the trauma from the night before behind them, how did they go about creating a new normal?

The start of breakfast was an unmitigated disaster. Otabek, it turned out, hadn’t felt the need to eat like a human for several years, and made quite the display of himself rooting around his bowl of porridge like a pig at a trough. His face and chest were soon so covered in splatters that Yuri couldn’t help but stare. He wasn’t offended by it – he was hardly the neatest eater in the world – but it wasn’t something you saw every day. When Otabek came up for air and noticed Yuri staring, it became quite awkward. Yuri wanted to say something to reassure him that everything was fine, but he wasn’t exactly practiced at throwing feelings around.

Phichit tried to make the situation better by gently nudging a spoon towards Otabek. To his credit, Otabek managed to wrap his massive paw around the tiny utensil quite daintily. The trouble came when he tried to tip the porridge into his mouth and instead spilled it down the front of his shirt (a shirt Yuri had been quite surprised to see him wearing). The meal ground to a halt, neither Yuri nor Otabek knowing what to do or say. Their saviour turned out to be Yakov who, as Viktor opened the kitchen door to bring out the next dish yelled, “it’s porridge. Don’t stand on ceremony, drink it!”

Yuri and Otabek blinked at one another.

“For the love of-” the rest of Yakov’s cursing was muted by the door swinging shut.

Laying his own spoon on the table, Yuri picked up his bowl and tipped it towards his lips. It took a few moments for the porridge to start sliding, but he was able to swallow it quite easily. He lowered the bowl again and was surprised to find Otabek watching him, an unreadable expression on his face.

Yuri scowled at him. “What?”

“You’ve got something, here.” Otabek indicated to a spot on his cheek.

“Oh.” He wiped at the spot with the back of his hand and succeeded in smearing more of it across his face.

The pair looked at each other for a moment until a large chunk of porridge rolled down Otabek’s beard and landed in his bowl with a wet plop.

For whatever reason, this was the exact thing they needed to break the tension, and they both began to laugh.

After breakfast, Yuuri ushered them both out to the East garden, claiming he had too much to do that morning and would the Master like to take this opportunity to feed the birds?

“Do you often take orders from your servants?” asked Yuri, pulling up his hood up against the cold.

“It’s not an order,” Otabek grumbled. “I like feeding the birds. Even if they don’t like me back.”

“What?”

“You’ll see,” Otabek sighed.

They descended the snow covered stairs and each scooped a handful of seeds out of the bag Yuuri had provided. As if waiting for their cue, several brightly coloured birds swooped down and landed in front of them, watching them with great interest. Otabek held out his paws, though the expression on his face said he didn’t expect much to happen. Sure enough, the few birds brave enough to attempt taking a seed didn’t risk landing on him.

“We’ll clearly you’re doing it wrong.” Yuri rolled his eyes.

Otabek frowned at him. “If you’re such an expert, why don’t you have any birds eating out of your hands?”

“Because I don’t like them and they can sense hostility,” Yuri scoffed. “Now get down on the ground.”

Otabek’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you want to feed the birds or not?”

Otabek grudgingly consented, dropping down onto his haunches with a sulk that rivaled a cranky toddler. Yuri felt the corner of his mouth tug upwards into a small smile.

“Now, if I was a bird, I wouldn’t want these claws poking up at me when I tried to land.” He laid a hand on Otabek’s paws. “Straighten your fingers.”

It wasn’t easy, but with gentle pressure, Otabek’s fingers finally uncurled enough so that his claws were lying parallel to the ground. The birds watched all of this, heads tilted to the side, tweeting excitedly. For good measure, Yuri sprinkled the ground in front of Otabek with seeds and sat back to watch.

The flock went for the seeds on the ground immediately, but it took a little longer for one brave bluebird to take the leap and flutter straight into Otabek’s hands. Obviously thrilled, Otabek turned to Yuri, who couldn’t help but feel a little thrilled too. He refreshed the seeds on the ground and soon multiple birds were lining up for a shot at the bounty Otabek held.

“Do you really not like birds?” asked Otabek suddenly, turning to face Yuri and scattering half the flock.

Yuri had to laugh at the juxtaposition between Otabek’s serious expression and the tiny, brown bird settling itself on Otabek’s head.

“I don’t like chickens. These ones aren’t _so_ bad,” he conceded.

“Why don’t you like chickens?”

“Because they’re nasty, ungrateful birds that always try to peck me when I feed them.”

“When you feed them…” comprehension dawned. “You’re a farmer!”

“No I’m not,” Yuri bit out. “We just keep them for eggs, we don’t have…stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry,” Otabek gasped, “but I’m picturing you with a pitchfork, ushering the hogs into the barn.”

Yuri pulled his knees up to his chest. “We only have one pig,” he muttered.

Otabek laughed so hard that all but the bravest birds retreated. He stopped laughing when Yuri’s snowball caught him square on the jaw.

 

[](http://s61.photobucket.com/user/sitari_hobbit/media/170219-BNB_simplified_zpslenagu9r.png.html)

***

Compared to the excitement of Yuri’s first night in the castle, the next few weeks were downright pleasant. The beast – Otabek, was like a completely different person. Sure, he still let his temper get the better of him sometimes, but he seemed to be making an honest attempt at keeping it in check. On the few occasions he did fly off the handle, Yuri called him out on it and Otabek simmered down into a sulk. It was funny, that in a situation where he probably should have been miserable, Yuri was having a pretty good time.

And it wasn’t just his growing relationship with Otabek. The more time Yuri spent at the castle, the more he grew to like the servants – though he’d never admit it to any of them. Viktor had a terrible memory but was patient with Yuri and took great care in preparing meals he knew Yuri would enjoy. Yuuri lacked confidence and sometimes his stammering got annoying, but he was sweet and continued to monitor Yuri, always ready to step in and shift the conversation when he suspected it was getting to be too much for Yuri to handle. Yuko always seemed to know when Yuri needed a moment alone and had an endless number of excuses to pull Yuri away to accompany her on her chores. Yakov always listened when Yuri needed to have a rant, not that he had much of a choice of course, but he didn’t seem to mind. Phichit, Christophe, Mila, and all the others all accepted Yuri as a resident of the castle – as family – like he’d always been there. For the first time in Yuri’s life, he had friends.

The biggest surprise came on the one month anniversary of Yuri’s stay at the castle. Otabek had been cagey for days and Yuri had been unable to get any of the servants to talk (the exception of course being Viktor, who had very nearly spilled the beans until Yuuri cut him off with a kiss. Viktor had been exceptionally distracted by this and Yuri had thought it best to leave them to it, leaving to go bother Mila). After breakfast (which had been Katsudon because, in Viktor’s words, “life is too short to relegate pork-cutlet bowls to the realm of diner”) Otabek had requested Yuri’s presence at the South garden gate, something Yuri thought was rather good of him considering just weeks ago he was making demands.

“So is this the thing you’ve been avoiding me for?” asked Yuri as they descended the stairs together.

“There’s something I want to show you,” said Otabek, staring determinately ahead.

When they at last reached the doors that would lead them to the garden Otabek paused.

“I need you to close your eyes.”

Yuri raised an eyebrow and Otabek shifted impatiently.

“It’s a surprise. I promise you’ll- I hope you’ll like it.”

Yuri made him wait perhaps longer than strictly necessary, but consented to closing his eyes.

“Fine, but if I fall, you’re carrying me back to my room.”

The doors creaked on their hinges and Yuri felt the soft heat of the weak January sun on his face.

“That’s an…acceptable request,” Otabek muttered.

Yuri snorted and his heart gave a little leap when Otabek took him lightly by the hand to lead him outside. It was…not an unpleasant feeling.

They only walked for a short distance before Otabek stopped.

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“In a moment,” Otabek replied, placing both paws on Yuri’s shoulders to better angle him in the proper direction.

Yuri shivered from more than just the cold. “Now?”

“Now.”

Yuri opened his eyes and had to close them again almost immediately, the sun glinting on the snow covered grounds making it difficult to see. But when he opened his eyes for the second time, he was met with a sight he never thought he’d see again. It was a skating rink.

Someone had gone to great lengths to clear all the snow off the surface of the lake, so it was packed into banks that circled the pristine ice. The cleared ice went on for ages, even crossing under the bridge and continuing around the bend out of sight. A path to the ice had been painstakingly cleared, so there was a direct link from the spot they were standing to the rink. There was even a bench conveniently placed on the ice where one could change from shoes to skates. It was biggest and possibly best skating rink Yuri had ever seen.

“You did all this?” Yuri could barely keep the glee restrained in his voice.

“I…may have had heard a rumour that you liked to skate. But I’m the one that did all the work!” Otabek finished defiantly, as if worried Yuri would think someone else deserved the praise.

“It’s awesome!” He flung his arms around Otabek. “Thank you!”

For a moment it seemed like Otabek had stopped functioning, for his arms stayed frozen in mid-air, like he had forgotten how to hug. But then his paws came to rest gently on Yuri’s back and he gave him the barest squeeze. Yuri didn’t want to break the contact, but he _really_ wanted to get on the ice.

“Have you tried it yet?” he asked, excitedly pulling Otabek towards the path. “Yuuri said you used to be good.”

“It’s your present,” Otabek huffed.

“I think there’s room for both of us.”

“I haven’t been skating since the...change.” Otabek rubbed the back of his neck. “I haven’t done anything really since then.”

“How lucky are you that I’m here then to make you have fun again,” Yuri teased.

“Yuri…”

“You said this was _my_ present, right? Well I want to skate with you,” said Yuri, imperiously.

Otabek glared at him but it lacked malice. There was a touch of melancholy about it and something else Yuri couldn’t seem to place.

“If you insist,” he said.

Yuri beamed at him.

“Can I borrow a pair of your old skates?”

Otabek returned the smile.

“I had Viktor bring down a pair I think should fit you.”

***

It took more than a few sessions on the lake for Otabek to really get his ice legs back, but once he did it was evident that he was quite skilled. He held himself differently on the ice, some of the slump of his shoulders gone, the power contained in his legs put to use at last. He seemed lighter on the ice, and unafraid to hold back, taking great joy in skating circles around Yuri and racing him from one end of the lake to the other.

Yuri too, was practically wild with joy. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel this free. He had certainly never felt like this in the village. Each day was a new adventure filled with skating, exploring, and so much more. It was getting Viktor to teach him the secret to the perfect dish. It was Yuuri showing a surprising aptitude for fancy footwork while skating – despite his wooden handicap. It was Christophe making him blush with a dirty joke. It was Phichit challenging him to a toboggan race. It was Mila teasing him about how good he’d look with his hair pulled back. It was the quiet moments he spent curled up with a cushion he found out used to be a cat named Makura. It was Yakov yelling at him. It was Yuko laughing.  It was Otabek, revealing himself to be so much more than his monstrous form. The castle felt more like home every day. If only his grandpa could be there to enjoy it with him, then everything would be perfect.

He’d lost track of how long he’d been at the castle when Otabek proposed they have a formal dinner party.

“Don’t we eat dinner together every night?” asked Yuri, buttering a piece of toast.

“Yes, but I thought we could do something special. Something different. The ballroom hasn’t been used in ages.”

 _Ballroom_. It took Yuri a moment to connect the word to the path the conversation was heading towards.

“You want to dance with me?” he asked, incredulously.

At the other end of the table, Otabek dropped the fork he’d been trying to master, which immediately scuttled off the table and out of sight.

“No. Yes. Well not me, it was the servant’s idea.” He scrubbed a paw over his face, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

“Okay.”

“What?” Otabek peeked out from between his massive fingers.

“If it was the servant's idea,” Yuri started, a faint blush rising on his cheeks.

“They haven't had anything to do in so long,” Otabek pressed on.

“And they've been so kind to me,” Yuri continued.

“I really want to help them feel useful again. Give them a taste of the good old days,” Otabek agreed.

“It would be only right.” Yuri conceded.

“Then we agree, a ball it is.” Otabek gave a short nod.

“A ball?”

“A ball!” gushed Viktor, hopping out from behind the serving door. "You won’t be disappointed. We shall stage the grandest ball this castle has ever seen!"

“I thought-” The rest of Yuri’s words were drowned by a tidal wave of servants flooding into the room, each one chattering exuberantly to their neighbour. Yuri couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

***

Time seemed to move in fast forward leading up to the ball. Privately, Yuri thought it was stupid to call it a ball when there were only to be two attendees, but he kept it to himself as the servants were over the moon about it. New life had been breathed back into the castle; everywhere he looked there was activity. Suits of armor were polishing themselves, fine china rolled by in packs, and brooms scoured the castle looking for any speck of dust to sweep. The only one seemingly unaffected by the news about the ball was Yakov who remained cranky as ever, though that may have had something to do with Christophe leading an army of sponges to scour him within an inch of his life.

While the servant’s excitement was contagious, it did _not_ mean that Yuri gave into all the frivolity. He spent much of the afternoon arguing with Mila over what he should wear. Her obsession with all things frilly had not diminished and she insisted on trying to dress him up like a fairy.

“It would compliment your delicate features so beautifully.”

“Shut up,” Yuri bellowed, flinging her latest pick into the ever-growing ‘no’ pile. “If you hand me one more see-through shirt I swear I’ll chop you into firewood.”

“I didn’t take you for a coward,” she sniffed.

“What?”

“Real men aren’t afraid of lace. The Master owns several lacy shirts.”

Refusing to be distracted by what Otabek would look like in a lacy shirt, Yuri attempted to steer the conversation back to more familiar ground.

“Having shirts with holes in them isn’t the same as lace. Stop trying to pass this moth-eaten garbage off on me.”

“Brat.”

“Hag.”

There was no venom in the exchange. Quite the contrary, Yuri thoroughly enjoyed their mutual taunting. The one time he had taken things too far, Mila had simply locked him inside of her and refused to let him out until he apologized. Since then, he’d learned to recognize when he was getting too close to the line and had worked hard to keep their squabbling on this side of friendly.

Today however, he found his patience wearing thin. He refused to analyze the source of his anger too closely, though he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with the ball.

“You must have something worth wearing in that fat box of yours,” he grunted.

“Watch who you’re calling fat,” she replied with just a hint of warning in her voice. “You wouldn’t want all your outfits to have a nasty encounter with the fireplace - you’d have to go to the ball naked! Though Otabek might enjoy that…” she trailed off, suddenly pensive.

Yuri had no response to that, opting instead to try smothering himself in the reject pile. He was cruelly denied death from asphyxiation by a knock at the door.

“What?” he snapped.

“We’ve come to save the day!” cried Viktor, cheerful as ever.

“Or at the bare minimum, not make it any worse,” added Yuuri.

“Wanna bet?” Yuri muttered, reluctantly rising to let them in.

His floor was a mess, the carpet practically invisible beneath the sea of shirts, trousers, and horrifyingly, a few dresses (which had been the first to go into the ‘no’ pile). He pulled the door open, but instead of seeing the resident happy couple, he was instead greeted by the sight of a large wicker basket that stood as tall as his waist.

“We figured things were probably going less than smoothly,” Yuuri started, poking his head around the side of the basket.

“We could hear you shouting all the way downstairs,” Viktor supplied helpfully, resting his head on Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Yes,” said Yuuri, exasperation clear on his face. “So we thought it best to take up a collection amongst the staff to see if we could find you something appropriate to wear.”

“I…”

“No need to thank us,” Viktor winked. “We know how wonderful this must be for you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Yuri muttered.

“This calls for a fashion show!” said Mila excitedly.

Between the four of them, they managed to pick out a pair of shoes that were sufficiently dressy enough. Yuri was a fan of a black pair of pants with a bold red stripe down the side, but Yuuri took them from his grasp with a hastily muttered, “Chris shouldn’t have donated any trousers,” and Yuri didn’t feel the need to press the matter further. A different pair of pants were found (Phichit’s) that fit snuggly but were at least the correct length. A shirt proved to be the most elusive item to find, until they made it halfway through the basket and Yuri spotted it.

“I want this one,” he said loudly, interrupting the debate Yuuri and Viktor were having over a striped shirt that would have made him look like a sailor.

He reached into the basket and fished it out of the heap, the silky fabric coming free easily. It was bright gold with puffy arms and cut to fit loosely. Chains hung off the shoulders like mock epaulets and shone brightly even against the metallic fabric. It was loud, tacky, and hideous. In short, it was perfect.

“But there’s no way to style it with a cravat,” said Mila, sadly.

“Don’t care.” Yuri already had his shirt off and was pulling on the shiny new one. “Wearing it.”

Reluctantly, Mila swung one of her doors open and allowed Yuri access to the mirror. This shirt was clearly the winner. Its garish colour should have washed him out, but somehow it only accented his golden hair and the green of his eyes.

“It fits you well,” said Yuuri, smiling at him in the mirror.

“How wonderful!” Viktor clapped delightedly. “The boy clearly takes after me.”

“Why?” Yuri snorted. “Because it’s the same colour as you?”

“Because it’s my shirt.” Viktor winked.

“Please don’t ruin this for me,” Yuri grumbled.

Mila sighed. “At least let me do your hair.”

“Yes! We’ll leave you to it,” said Yuuri, scuttling towards the door. “We’ve still got lots to do in the main castle.”

“Good luck Yuri!” called Viktor, as Yuuri pushed him bodily through the door.

“Good luck?” Yuri echoed. But they were already gone.

The door opened again as Makura pushed her way into the room.

“So, what should we do with your hair?” asked Mila, jovily. “Up-do? Braid? Ponytail? I think you’d look downright angelic if we just got your bangs off your face.”

To illustrate her point, she opened one of her drawers to let two clips shoot out and pull his hair up in a half-ponytail. Makura jumped onto his lap with a floomp and butted at his hand, demanding attention.

“Why did Viktor wish me good luck?” asked Yuri, burying his hand in Makura’s tassels.

“Who knows why Viktor does half the things he does.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” said Mila, breezily.

“Why is everyone so excited over the damn ball? And don’t tell me it’s just because everyone is so excited about the ‘good old days’. I want to know the truth.”

She took a moment to respond, seemingly searching for the right words.

“I can’t answer that,” she said finally.

His pulse quickened. “Does it have anything to do with the curse?”

“I can’t answer that either.”

Yuri stood up suddenly, throwing Makura to the floor with an angry hiss.

“Then what can you answer?” Yuri shouted, his temper getting the better of him. “Because I’m tired of being a pawn in whatever game this is!”

Mila frowned at him but stood her ground.

“Let me ask _you_ a question: why did you agree to the ball?”

“What?”

“There _is_ another reason everyone is so excited tonight, but there’s truth in wanting to recapture some of the gold old days too.” Her eyes narrowed. “But you weren’t with us then. You’re not royalty, not even a member of the court. And I’m willing to bet you’ve never been to a ball in your life, let alone _wanted_ to go to one. So why did you agree to this?”

Yuri felt the colour rise in his cheeks and wished the stupid clips hadn’t pulled his hair back – he felt very exposed.

“Why do you care?” he snapped.

“The same reason you do,” she shot back.

“I told you, I’m tired of being a pawn-”

“You can spout that nonsense all you want,” she interrupted. “But I know deep down you’re doing this because you want to. You might not know how, but you know it’s going to help the Master – help all of us – and you want to see it happen.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he snorted, folding his arms and turning his back on her. “I’m a prisoner. I wouldn’t stay in this castle if I wasn’t trapped here.”

“You keep telling yourself that. But your emotions aren’t your enemy, and neither am I.”

An awkward silence fell between. Yuri refused to be the first to break it, but Mila had a stubbornness that could rival J.J.’s. He debated grabbing the rest of his clothes and retreating to the library or some other unused room to wait out the rest of the time until the ball, but Yuko had all but banned him from roaming the castle while they finished preparations. Not that he cared what Yuko wanted.

In the end, he settled for pretending nothing had ever happened.

“Do you still want to do my hair?” he asked, stiffly.

Mila pursed her lips and looked skyward, making a show out of it.

“If you insist.”

***

As the clock chimed seven, signaling their appointed time to meet for the ball, Yuri was completely on edge. Mila had combed him within an inch of his life (he suspected she’d instructed the brushes to use a little more force than strictly necessary) and done his hair up in two braids on either side of his face which met at the back in a ponytail. Despite his earlier enthusiasm about the shirt, the clothes felt foreign and uncomfortable on his body. He descended the staircase, feeling like he’d rather go another round with the wolves than go down to dinner.

His mood shifted dramatically when he saw Otabek.

Otabek, who had clearly suffered more at the hands of his groomers than Yuri had, was wearing a dark blue suit jacket, open at the front to reveal a bright white shirt. A satin cravat, black as midnight was tied snugly around his neck and matched the hue of his pants. Someone had even wrangled his mane under control so it hung neatly down his back, tied near the end with a bow. Yuri had never seen him look so princely before. It took a moment for Otabek to notice Yuri but when he did, he smiled a wide, unguarded smile that made Yuri feel like he’d just had the air punched out of him.

They met on the middle landing of the staircase, neither one able to take their eyes off the other. Even when Otabek swept into a deep bow, he kept his eyes trained directly on Yuri’s face. Overwhelmed by the attention, Yuri tried to copy the move but extended his leg too far back and ended up doing a stupid kind of curtsy.

Otabek chuckled and extended his arm. “Shall we go down?”

“I can walk just fine by myself,” Yuri answered, blushing furiously.

“I know,” said Otabek, sounding supremely unconcerned.

When he didn’t lower his arm, Yuri didn’t see anything else he could do but accept the offer. He slung his own arm around Otabek’s proffered one, and pretended not to see the way Otabek’s chest swelled with pride.

“Let’s go,” said Yuri, gruffly, ignoring the way his arm seemed to be buzzing at the point of contact. “I don’t want to hear Yakov bitching that we let his food get cold.”

They descended the stairs in silence. Yuri attempted to start a conversation several times, but somehow nothing he could think of seemed witty or relevant. It was stupid. He talked to Otabek every day. He’d walked down the damn staircase hundreds of times since his arrival. But everything felt different tonight, like he was playing a very important game he didn’t know the rules to, the weight of unknown expectation crushing him. The way Otabek kept smiling at him wasn’t helping things either.

They entered the dining room and took their seats at opposite ends of the long table. Normally Yuri would have chosen a seat closer to Otabek but he supposed this was how formal seating arrangements were done at balls. As it was, sitting so far away from Otabek put him on edge. How was he supposed to dance with Otabek if he couldn’t even keep up a damn conversation?

It took him until halfway through the soup course (Otabek had managed to relearn the fine art of eating with a spoon for the occasion) to identify what he was feeling. It was Yuuri, really, that helped him put his finger on it. Yuuri, who was quietly moving between the table and the kitchen, attempting to serve while making himself as insignificant as possible. Of course, this being Yuuri, meant that his efforts to minimize his appearance and give them privacy were in fact making him quite noticeable.

Yuri watched all of this: the creeping, the eyes trained constantly on the floor, the walking backwards towards the kitchen, when it hit him: for the first time in his life, he was feeling anxious.

“Oh my god,” he said, his spoon falling into his bowl with a clatter.

Otabek looked up in alarm.

“What?”

“I can’t believe it,” Yuri laughed. “This is so stupid.”

Viktor hopped to his side, confusion crinkling his waxy forehead.

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes! Well not with dinner.” He looked down the ridiculously long table to where Otabek was still looking slightly concerned. “We need to dance.”

“Right now?”

“Right now,” Yuri confirmed, practically running the length of the table to pull Otabek out of his chair.

He went easily enough, the chair tucking itself back in as Yuri dragged Otabek through to the ballroom. The grand piano began to play a waltz of its own accord, accompanied by a small contingent of string and brass instruments.

As they took their places at the center of the dance floor, Yuri’s sense of dread and elation grew in equal measures. Now that he had finally identified what he was feeling, he was going to take great glee in defeating it. Somehow, all the dread he’d been feeling about getting his role in the evening right had culminated in this one act. He was scared to dance with Otabek; so he was going to turn into a goddamn dancing machine.

Just because he’d never danced before, didn’t mean he didn’t know _how_. He’d been dragged along to the village dances before – the cost of living in a farming community that celebrated the harvest on a deeply personal level – sulking in the corner, glaring at anyone who came near him. He wondered what they would say if they could see him now, guiding Otabek’s left hand into his right, placing his other hand on Otabek’s lower back. Then he decided not to waste another minute thinking about the villagers; it was time to dance, dammit.

Otabek raised an eyebrow.

“I’m leading,” said Yuri, defiantly.

“Of course you are,” Otabek replied, fondness found in every syllable.

Yuri steeled himself and took his first step. Overall, he wasn’t that bad at leading – though he suspected that had more to do with Otabek’s years of experience and ability to adapt than to his own skill, but he took the win nonetheless. What Yuri lacked in experience he made up for in style, whirling them across the dance floor in large, looping circles. If he wasn’t so busy concentrating, he might have laughed at how easily Otabek let himself be led. With all his strength, he probably could have stopped Yuri with a single finger to the forehead. But he never did. Even when it was obvious Yuri was about to step on his feet or tail, Otabek just let it happen, the smile never leaving his face.

Yuri lost track of how many songs they danced. The instruments never seemed to tire, one song transitioning seamlessly into the next. Just as he was starting to relax and feel comfortable with the movements, Otabek stopped them. Directing Yuri’s hand upwards to his shoulder, he slid one paw down until it came to rest just above Yuri’s hip.

“May I be permitted to lead?” he asked.

Yuri would have laughed if Otabek hadn’t of been so serious about it. He made a great show of giving in, heaving a sigh while rolling his eyes, desperately hoping Otabek chalked his blush up to exertion from dancing.

“If you must.”

At once, the dynamic between them changed. Just like skating, Otabek moved with far more grace while dancing than he did on a daily basis. With Otabek leading, it became clear just how much he was holding back. While Yuri’s lead was bold and dramatic, Otabek’s was measured and powerful. He spun Yuri with ease, spinning them apart, fingers barely touching, before pulling them back together. It was incredibly easy to relax into it. Yuri’s skill level didn’t matter now – he knew implicitly that Otabek would never let him fall.

It was some time before they took their next break.

“Why’d we stop?” asked Yuri.

Though they had stopped moving, Otabek hadn’t released him, and it suddenly dawned on Yuri how very close they were standing.

“You’re looking a little pink. I thought you might need a break.”

“Oh. You’re right, it’s very warm in here.” He cast his eyes to to doors leading out to the balcony. “Let’s go outside and cool down.”

Cooling off was definitely needed, and it was significantly darker outside and therefore easier to conceal any traitorous blushing.

Otabek nodded and finally took a step back, offering Yuri his arm once more. As Yuri took it, he cast a brief look over his shoulder and caught sight of half a dozen servants peering around the door, all smiling. He turned his eyes frontwards again when Viktor winked.

The air on the balcony was indeed cooler than that of the ballroom. They walked to the edge, settling themselves on the low stone banister. Their vantage point gave them a spectacular view of the gardens which, despite being winter, had received a thorough grooming along with the rest of the castle.

Yuri leant back against large, potted plant, aiming for relaxed and missing it by a mile. Otabek too seemed uneasy about something, scratching the back of his head, giving his tell that something was on his mind. Yuri didn’t mind the silence though. It was one of the things he liked about spending time with Otabek. How the two of them could enjoy each other's company without feeling the need to prattle on or make inane small talk – it was enough to just be. It was therefore a great surprise when Otabek suddenly slid the length of the banister until there was no space between them and took Yuri’s hands between his paws.

“Yuri,” he began, serious as always. “Are you happy here?”

“Yes,” Yuri answered without hesitation.

It was true. Yuri had lost count of the ways in which his life here far outstriped the life he had left behind in all but one crucial category.

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, for Otabek’s elation at his answer dimmed.

“What is it?”

Yuri considered deflecting or just outright lying, but he didn’t want to lie. Not to Otabek.

“It’s just...my grandpa,” he replied, his voice a small echo of his usual brash tones. “I’d love to see him again, if even for just a day.”

Otabek’s face fell.

“It’s okay,” said Yuri, quickly. “I’m not trying to get out of our deal. But he was my whole world before coming here.”

“Then we must do something about that,” said Otabek, decisively. He stood up, pulling Yuri with him. “Come.”

They walked briskly through the castle, Yuri having to move at a jog to keep up. Otabek held tightly to his hand as if afraid he might suddenly vanish and Yuri didn’t see any reason to complain. He was surprised when Otabek lead them up the stairs to the West Wing – he hadn’t returned there since his first visit many months ago.

The place had undergone a stunning transformation. All the broken furniture had been pushed into a large pile in the corner of the room, the torn hangings and curtains replaced with new ones. Even the bed had been replaced. It still wasn’t pristine, but it was markedly better, and something about the way it wasn’t perfect told Yuri that Otabek had done all this himself.

Otabek stopped when they reached the table with the bell jar. Like before, the rose swivelled to face Yuri in recognition but it did little more than that. Stem drooping, its head hung limply, and considerably less sparks were emitting than the last time he’d seen it. Was it dying?

Otabek ignored the rose in favour of the one other object on the table: the silver gilded mirror. He finally released Yuri’s hand to pick up the mirror.

“This mirror is enchanted,” he explained, handing it to Yuri. “It will show you anything you wish.”

“Even Grandpa?” asked Yuri, excitedly.

At once, the mirror began to glow, silver turning to green, emitting the same sparks as the rose. Yuri squinted against the bright light and gasped as the picture became clear. He had expected to see their little cottage, his grandpa enjoying a late night meal or dozing by the fire. Instead, he was met with the sight of Nikolai fighting his way through the forest in what looked like a losing the battle. Mud and snow covered the lower half of his body, his thin cloak doing nothing against the relentless wind. As Yuri watched, the map in Nikolai’s hands blew out of his grip, followed quickly by his hat. Coughing, he fell to his knees but continued to crawl. It was clear he was in trouble.

“Grandpa,” Yuri gasped.

“What is it?” Otabek’s voice was full of concern, but Yuri only had eyes for his grandpa.

“He’s here, in the forest. He must be trying to get back to the castle but he’s sick and all alone. He could be dying,” Yuri choked out.

Otabek turned and braced himself against the table. Yuri clutched the mirror to his chest, unable to watch anymore. This was all his fault.

“Then...then you must go to him.” The words sounded forced, like they were dragged from Otabek against his will.

“What?”

Otabek didn’t turn around. “I release you. You’re no longer my prisoner.”

Yuri blinked, unsure he’d heard correctly. He looked back at the mirror. Koyla was now lying face-down, unmoving.

“Go,” said Otabek, the weight of the world in his voice. “He needs you.”

 _What about you_ , Yuri wanted to ask. But instead he said, “Beka-”

“Please.” Otabek finally turned to look at him and Yuri saw his own grief echoed back tenfold in those honey-brown eyes. “If you lose him now without trying to save him I’ll never forgive myself.”

 _I’ll come back to you_. The words echoed in Yuri’s head, but he couldn’t force himself to say them, couldn’t make his mouth shape the words that could very well be a lie.

“Thank you,” he settled on, “for everything.”

He reached out and cupped the side of Otabek’s face, his fingers tangling in the long fur. Otabek eye’s fluttered shut and Yuri hoped he could feel everything he was trying to convey. In the back of his mind the words _no time, I’m sorry, no time_ played on an endless loop. Otabek was the one to break to contact, pulling away with a shudder.

“Go change,” he said, his voice flat and his eyes hard. “I’ll get the servants to ready your horse.”

For the second time in his life, Yuri ran from the West Wing. But this time, as Pirozhki thundered away from the castle, the only thing that chased them was the guttural cry of a wounded animal.

***

Unlike his first trip into the forest, this time Yuri was woefully unprepared. He had taken the time to change back into his regular clothes (the fashionable dress clothes unfit for riding in a snowstorm) and had nothing more than his cloak and satchel around his shoulders. He hadn’t expected a hasty departure, so the satchel held very little, save for the magic mirror he had accidently taken from the West Wing. If he had of been thinking straight, he would have left the mirror on his bed. But fear does funny things to the brain and in his hurry he hadn’t thought twice about it.

The mirror was the thing that ultimately saved the day. Through a series of clever snapshots, it was able to show him the path to Nikolai. His grandpa hadn’t made it very far into the forest, and Yuri said a silent prayer to whoever was listening that Otabek had thought to show him the mirror before it was too late. Nikolai was still out cold when he found him, but it was less than an hour’s ride back to their cottage.

The strangeness of being home again didn’t hit him until Nikolai was tucked in bed and his breathing had eased. Yuri puttered around the cottage, too stressed to wait by the bedside but at a loss for what to do. There was no doctor in the village, and he didn’t dare risk leaving to fetch one. He made due with stoking the fire, though even that wasn’t much of a chore as there was a neatly stacked log pile in the cellar; evidently the prized chopper was still in good working order.

He never realized how small the cottage was. Compared to the lofty rooms of the castle, the cottage felt cramped and claustrophobic. He was debating opening a window, when Koyla let out a weak moan.

“Grandpa?” Yuri rushed to his side.

Koyla opened his eyes and blinked hazily up at him. “Yurochka?”

“It’s okay,” Yuri’s voice shook, “I’m here.”

“But how?” Koyla tried to sit up but was gripped by a coughing fit.

“Lie back,” Yuri eased him down onto the bed and Koyla grabbed his hand, giving Yuri a vivid flashback to the way Otabek had done the same just hours before. “You’ve been through enough tonight.”

“But how did you escape?” Nikolai asked, his eyes wide as if he still couldn’t believe Yuri was sitting in front of him.

“I didn’t escape,” he said, softly. “He let me go.”

Koyla’s eyebrows all but disappeared into his hairline. “That horrible beast!”

“We’ve been apart for a long time.” Yuri smiled, though it was more wistful than happy. “And I wish you could have been there to see, but he’s changed, Grandpa. He’s-”

A knock on the door cut him off.

It was far too late for visitors. The little adrenaline that still resided in his system was setting off warning bells.

“Stay here.”

He opened the door just after the visitor finished their third set of knocks. Pulling open the door revealed a withered old man with jaundiced skin and sunken eyes. Beyond the off putting appearance, there was something sinister in the way the man was tapping his skeletal fingers together and the greedy look below his drooping eyelids.

“What?” Yuri snapped. There was nothing about this man that prompted politeness.

The man showed no signs of being disturbed by his rudeness. “I’ve come to collect your grandfather.”

“What do you mean ‘collect’ him?”

“Don’t worry son, we’ll take good care of him.”

The man grinned at him, but there was no hint of warmth in it. Yuri looked passed his shoulder into the yard and recoiled. There was a crowd of people in front of the house, more than half the village, many with torches, some even holding pitchforks and axes. They stood clustered around a wagon, parked with the back doors open and facing the house> The word ‘asylum’ was written in garrish letters on the side.

“How dare you?” Yuri spat. “My grandpa isn’t crazy!”

“He was raving like a lunatic at the pub,” someone shouted.

“Wouldn’t stop going on about some beast,” another agreed.

The crowd muttered in agreement, their voices rising like an angry swarm. Yuri’s blood reached its boiling point and he pushed up his sleeves, eager to start punching.

“Yuri? What’s going on?” Koyla joined him on the front step and the crowd’s heckling intensified.

“There he is!” shouted the tailor.

“Grab him!” cried the barber.

“Hey old man,” sneered the baker, “tell us about that beast again.”

“I told you everything and you all refused to help me,” Koyla pushed past Yuri to stand in front of the crowd.

Panic overtook his rage just long enough for Yuri to recognize that things were not going to end well.

“So you still think he’s real?” laughed the florist.

“Of course he’s real!” Koyla roared.

As if waiting for these words, the skeletal director raised a hand and two burly men stepped forward. They took position on either side of Koyla, and though he took a swing at one, they lifted him easily and began to carry him to the wagon.

“Stop!” Yuri yelled. “You can’t do this.”

There was no way he could fight them all off, though his rage was urging him to try. He cast around, desperately looking for a friendly face, but he found none, the normally placid faces of the villagers alight with malice. It wasn’t until his second pass of the crowd that he saw J.J. standing off to the side, barely visible in the glow of the torches.

“J.J.” He fought his way through the crowd, happy to see that smug face for the first time in his life. “You know he’s not crazy. Do something!”

It was possibly the due to the long shadows cast by the torches, but there was something sinister in the way J.J. looked down on him.

“I might be able to clear up this little misunderstanding,” he said slowly. “If...”

“If what?” snapped Yuri impatiently, neck craned to watch Koyla still fighting his jailors as they tried to force him into the wagon.

“If you marry me.”

The words snapped Yuri back to attention.

“Excuse me?” he asked, disgust dripping in every syllable.

“One little word, and this all goes away, Yuri.” J.J. smirked, pulling Yuri to his side.

Seeing him plainly for the first time, Yuri placed both hands on his chest and shoved. “Never.”

“Have it your way,” J.J. sneered as he pushed past Yuri, heading for the wagon.

There was truly no way out then. If J.J. had orchestrated all of this, there was no way for Yuri to win over the villagers, all of whom would buy what J.J. was selling any day of the week. If only there was a way to show them the truth.

Inspiration struck him like a bolt of lighting. He ran back into the house to retrieve the mirror. He raced back outside and slammed the door shut to get the mob’s attention.

“My grandpa isn’t crazy and I can prove it,” he screamed. Holding the mirror high, his command rang out clearly across the noise of the crowd. “Show me the beast!”

At once, the angry muttering of the crowd turned to gasps of horror. Even the pair holding Koyla seemed to forget what they were doing, transfixed on the image in the mirror. Otabek appeared to be mid-yawn, showing off every one of his fangs as he exhaled. His mouth snapped shut and the mirror showed the rest of his face. If Yuri hadn’t of been so stricken with fear for Koyla, he might have marveled at how he much he longed to touch the features that once horrified him.

“There. Proof!” he shouted. “Now let my grandpa go, and get the hell off our property!”

But the crowd didn’t disperse. Instead, it pushed forward, everyone ogling for a better view of Otabek. Instinctively, Yuri lowered the mirror and cradled it to his chest.

“Is it dangerous?” called the tinsmith, his axe shaking in his hands.

“What? No he’s...” Yuri paused, trying to find the right words. “He’s my friend.”

He gazed down at the mirror, fondly. Otabek had changed back into his regular attire and was in the West Wing, head in his paw, staring out over the castle grounds. He looked so miserable, Yuri desperately wanted to wipe the expression from his face. Momentarily lost in the image, he didn’t notice J.J. towering over him until the mirror was yanked from his hands.

“If I didn’t know any better,” said J.J., dangerously, “I’d say you had feelings for this monster.”

“He’s no monster,” said Yuri, making a grab for the mirror, “you are!”

Something ugly shifted in J.J.’s expression as he turned to address the crowd and for the first time in his life, Yuri felt genuinely afraid of J.J.

“He’s as loony as the old man,” he crowed, shoving the mirror in his belt. “This monster is dangerous! What’s to stop him from coming down the mountain and killing us all?”

“He’s not an animal, you moron! He’s been in the castle for ten years and never bothered anyone!” Yuri appealed, but J.J. ignored him.

“We’re not safe until he’s dead!” J.J. grabbed the closest pitchfork and thrust it into the air. “I say we kill the beast!”

“No!” Yuri cried.

But his protest was drowned out by the cheers of the crowd. Their doughy faces were alight with malevolence, but it was nothing compared to the hatred Yuri felt for each and every one of them in that moment. But before he could do anything to stop them, J.J. grabbed his upper arm hard enough to bruise.

“Bring the old man,” he called to the asylum staff. “We can’t have them running off to warn the monster.”

Yuri drew his fist back and threw a punch at J.J.’s head but the angle was all wrong and his blow barely grazed his temple.

“I don’t think so,” he sneered, dropping his pitchfork to pull both of Yuri’s hands behind his back. Yuri wasn’t deterred though, and swung his feet wildly, trying to kick and stomp at every part of J.J. he could reach. None of it did any good though. J.J. had both height and strength on his side and used both to heave Yuri through the double-doors and into the cellar. The asylum workers heaved Nikolai through moments later and the doors were slammed behind him before Yuri could even get to his feet. The dull grind of metal on wood told him they’d shoved something through the door handles. Sure enough, they refused to budge when he threw his shoulder against them.

“You can’t do this, you bastard!” he shouted, throwing his weight against the door, refusing to give in until it splintered. His shoulder roared in protest but he ignored it, his entire world focused on a single thought: Otabek. He had to get out and warn Otabek and the others.

“Yuri, stop. You’ll be no good to anyone with a broken shoulder,” Koyla commanded.

It took Nikolai physically pulling him away from the door to get him to stop.

“This is all my fault,” he gasped, shoulder screaming in pain. “I never should have shown them the mirror. J.J. isn’t stupid. He’ll figure out how to use it and it’ll lead them straight to the castle!”

Outside, the sounds of the mob were growing fainter. Through the tiny storm window, Yuri could just see the backs of the stragglers as they headed towards town, presumably to grab more scythes and axes on their march to the castle. The idea of those monsters in the castle made Yuri sick.

“Are they gone?” Koyla asked.

“Yes,” said Yuri, bitterly. “Every last one of them, the stupid sheep.”

“Good. No guard means we won’t have to fight our way out.”

Yuri whirled to face Koyla. “What?”

“What, you thought I was idle all those months you were gone?” Koyla smirked. “I’ve been busy working on a plan to get you out of that castle. Who knew I’d end up using it trying to get you back in?”

Yuri watched as Koyla bustled over to his work bench and began to pull a number of tools down from the shelf. “What are you saying?” he asked, slowly.

“I’m saying I think we’ve both outgrown this house and we’ve definitely outgrown this village. I hope this prince of yours has room for an old man in his castle.”

“He’s not _my_ prince,” Yuri replied, testily. “And of course there’s room for you at the castle.”

“Good. Now hand me that barrel of black powder.”

***

It took them the better part of an hour to pack the charges and place them to Nikolai’s satisfaction. Yuri tried his best not to think about how far J.J. and the villagers could have made it in that time. Very few of the villagers had horses, but would that slow them down? Or would those with horses ride on ahead in the advance guard?

“You’re sure Pirozhki is secure in the stable?” Koyla repeated. “This will all be for nothing if our one means of transportation is spooked and runs off.”

“Positive.”

“Good. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

Nikolai lit the fuse and they retreated to the far side of the workshop, huddled behind their makeshift blast wall of several old boiler plates. They were indeed lucky that the entire mob, caught up in the hysteria, had followed J.J. to the castle, for the explosion was anything but subtle. The basement doors were blasted into nothing more than toothpicks and much of the south facing wall of the house went with it. Smoke and debris rained down around them but their blast wall held and all that reached them was a dusting of powdered stone. Yuri peered around the wall at the ruined remains of their house and was hit with sudden understanding regarding the odd bangs and explosions he’d been hearing from the workshop for years.

“Well, that was exciting,” said Koyla, brushing off his nightshirt as he got to his feet. “I’ve never done one that big before.”

“We’re going to have a talk about keeping black powder under the house later,” Yuri muttered.

His heart was pounding at a rapid rate, but not from the explosion. He readied Pirozhki in record time, pausing only when the last buckle had been secured. In their sudden imprisonment and subsequent breakout, there hadn’t been any time to explain why he was so desperate to get back to the place that should have been his prison. But he should have had more faith in Koyla, for no sooner was Pirozhki ready to ride than Nikolai gripped him by the shoulder.

“You go ahead - Pirozhki will be faster with just you. I’m going to walk to the village and see if any of the idiots left their horses behind. I’ll follow as soon as I can, but for the love of God, Yurachka, be careful.”

“I will,” Yuri replied, knowing full well he might not be able to keep that promise.

Koyla held him for a moment longer. It felt like he had so much on his mind but couldn’t bring himself to speak the words.

“I’m glad you’ve finally decided what you want from life,” he said finally. “Now go.”

Yuri didn’t need telling twice. Pirozhki sped into the field, heading for the now familiar forest, Yuri urging him to go faster still. The rain and harsh wind lashed his face like knives, but he didn’t relent. Every beat of Pirozhki’s hooves seemed to say _Otabek, Otabek, Otabek_. He kept hoping to see a flicker of torchlight or hear the footsteps of the small army, but all was silent. It seemed J.J. had learnt how to use the mirror very quickly indeed.

When at last they reached the castle gates, Yuri’s heart lurched. The gates had clearly put up a fight against the intruders and were now hanging limply on their hinges. He gazed up at the castle, looking for any other signs of battle, but the courtyard was as empty as it had been the night of his arrival. The huge double doors were open and a thin trickle of light spilled out through the gap, but all was suspiciously quiet.

Yuri dismounted and ran across the bridge, not bothering to tie Pirozhki up. It didn’t matter now; no matter what happened, he wasn’t going to need to ride again tonight. And besides, if the mob was victorious, he didn’t want any of them getting their hands on his horse. The castle doors creaked feebly at his presence and tried their best to open wider, though the gap was already large enough for two men to walk through. But it was the sight beyond the doors that made Yuri pause.

Down the long hallway at the footsteps of the grand staircase, full on warfare was being waged. It looked like every servant in the castle had congregated in the foyer and was doing their best to beat back the mob. Pots were planting themselves firmly on the villagers’ heads, mops were (quite literally) scrubbing the floor with them, and all manner of trunks and wardrobes were greedily filling themselves with the stragglers. Even Yakov was there, somehow unbolted from the kitchen and eagerly chasing the villagers, huge plumes of flame erupting from his burners.

Yuri threw himself into the throng, torn between helping his friends and finding Otabek. The last time he’d seen him in the mirror, Otabek had been standing in the West Wing. He was noticeably absent from the fight as, Yuri realized with a sudden turn of his stomach, was J.J. He fought his way through the crowd, pushing villagers into the path of the servants who were more than willing to dispose of them.

“Heads up!” cried a voice from above.

Yuri looked and dove out of the way just as Phichit and his friends began merrily pouring boiling water down on the blacksmith’s head.

“Sorry, Yuri!” shouted Phichit, causing several excited gasps from the servants closest to him.

“You’re back!” Mila squealed, slamming her doors shut on yet another victim.

“Where’s Otabek?” Yuri shouted, tripping the baker as he chased after Makkachin.

“I don’t know,” she replied, slamming one of her door’s into the baker’s face. “Yuuri went to warn him about the intruders but they broke through the doors and we got a bit busy.”

She leant backwards, almost casually and pinned the florist against one of the columns. Yuri took this as his cue to keep going. If Yuuri had gotten to Otabek in time, there was still hope that he had removed himself from danger. But he wasn’t the type to run and hide, so where the hell was he?

Yuri pressed forward and finally broke through to the foot of the grand staircase. The West Wing was the best place to start his search. He had just started up the stairs when a sudden flash of fire caught his eye. Cloistered in the gap between staircase and wall was the butcher’s assistant, brandishing a torch at something very small and golden: Viktor. He was in obvious distress, his back pressed against the wall, wax dripping down his face at an alarming rate, the torch producing too much heat for him to hold his form for much longer. Rage swelled in Yuri, but before he could even take a step towards the pair, a scream from the top of the stairs caught his attention.

It was Yuuri, wearing a look that could only be described as murderous. Holding a pair of scissors aloft, he slid down the banister and all but impaled the man threatening Viktor. The man let out a howl of rage and dropped the torch on the marble floor. Never one to waste time, Viktor eagerly hopped forward and sent a column of flame shooting upwards from his head, neatly setting the man’s vest on fire. Viktor had barely extinguished his flame before Yuuri launched himself at Viktor and kissed him within an inch of his life. It was clear the servants had everything under control on the lower levels which was a great comfort to Yuri as he resumed his climb, vaulting up the stairs two at a time.

Removed from the noise and commotion of the floors below, the upper levels seemed ominously quiet, the muffled pounding of Yuri’s feet on the carpet the only sound. He flung himself through the door to the West Wing, taking quick inventory of his surroundings as he passed. There had clearly been a scuffle here; all the careful cleaning Otabek had done was ruined once more by furniture tipped on its side and scattered debris. He opened the door to one of the rooms at random. More furniture lay overturned and the glass doors leading to the balcony were smashed, the floor covered in glittering detritus. Yuri ran to the balcony and his heart froze.

Stretched out on the roof below was Otabek, an arrow protruding from his shoulder, his eyes half-closed and unfocused. His head was turned as if waiting for the final blow that would undoubtedly come from the figure towering over him: J.J. As the rain beat down around them, J.J., who looked madder than Yuri had ever seen him, picked up a large chunk of stone broken off from one of the many gargoyles. This was it; Yuri would never get to them in time, and even if he could he wasn’t strong enough to hold J.J. off for longer than a minute. Why the hell wasn’t Otabek fighting back? Yuri watched, horror struck as J.J. raised the stone above his head like a club.

“No!”

He hadn’t meant to scream, hadn’t meant for that one word to convey so much of things left unsaid, but it was enough. Both J.J. and Otabek turned towards the sound, Otabek rising slowly, life rapidly coming back to his face.

“Yuri?” Otabek said softly, like he didn’t dare hope what he was seeing was real.

In mirror contrast to Otabek’s serene face, rage crested J.J.’s, blacker than the thunder clouds hanging over them. He turned back to face Otabek, using the momentum to carry his club down in what surely would have been a deadly blow had it struck its target – but Otabek was ready. In a fluid movement Yuri wouldn’t of thought he was capable of in his weakened state, Otabek caught the club in his paw and stood up, forcing J.J. to concede some of his ground. With a snarl, Otabek pressed his advantage and J.J. disengaged to leap onto the roof of a turret. Otabek followed, both of them scrabbling for purchase on the slick tiles, trading blows when their footing allowed.

Yuri tore from the balcony and followed their progress from inside, stealing glances out the hall windows whenever he could. Though their progress seemed random, they were headed roughly in the direction of the main balcony that lay just beyond the rose pedestal. He still didn’t have a clear idea of what he could add to the fight, but somehow he felt that if he could reach Otabek, everything would be fine. If he could just get there in time…

He crashed through the doors to the balcony and saw he had guessed right. The fight had come to a standstill mere feet below him on one of the lower roofs. His strength clearly recovered, Otabek had a paw around J.J.’s neck, and was holding him on the edge of the precipice.

“Please,” J.J. whimpered in a voice quite unlike his usual, self-assured tone. “Let me go, I’ll do anything, anything!”

 _Drop him_ , thought Yuri, _let it end here_. But to his great surprise, Otabek relaxed his grip and he lowered J.J. to safety where he collapsed in a ragged heap.

Lowering himself so he was face to face with J.J., Otabek growled a single word, “ _leave_.”

J.J. folded in on himself, as if trying to make himself seem small and innocuous. Though Otabek still had his back to Yuri, the wince when he straightened his shoulders told Yuri he was in rough shape.

“Beka,” Yuri called, shakily. He just needed to touch him, feel the beat of his heart under his palm and then everything would be fine.

Otabek turned out the sound of his voice, all traces of the battle rage gone as he stared up at Yuri.

“Yuri,” he breathed, disbelief clear in his voice. “You came back.”

He began to climb towards the balcony, slipping a few inches on the slick tile. Yuri reached out to help pull him up, his heartbeat starting to slow for the first time since arriving – it was all going to be okay. They were inches from each other now, green eyes fixed on brown. Which is why Yuri didn’t see J.J. crawling up behind Otabek with a knife.

Otabek’s claw was a hair’s breadth away from reaching Yuri’s hand when the blow came. He roared, not in anger but in pain, his grip on the balcony loosening as he reared back. Yuri practically threw himself over the balcony and grabbed Otabek’s shoulders, digging his heels into a stony crevice and holding on for dear life. His muscles screamed in protest but he refused to break his hold. Weakened and disoriented, Otabek’s left leg lost purchase on the tile and slid backwards, kicking J.J. square in the gut. With a shout, J.J. slid down the roof and stopped only when he crashed into one of the larger gargoyles where he lay, unmoving.

“Grab,” Yuri panted, “can’t...lift...please.”

With the little strength he had left, Otabek complied, grabbing the edge of the balcony and heaving his mass over the railing. Yuri helped lower him to the ground, unable to tear his gaze away from the flow of blood trickling from Otabek’s side.

“You came back,” Otabek repeated, his voice frighteningly weak.

“Of course I did,” Yuri tried to smile but found he was unable. “I’m so sorry, Beka, this is all my fault. My grandpa tried to rally the village to save me and they thought he had gone crazy ranting about a monster in the mountains. They tried to take him away so I used the mirror...” his rambling trailed off. It didn’t matter why it had happened; he would never forgive himself for it.

The familiar clang metal on stone alerted him to the arrival of the servants. Viktor, Yuuri, Yuko, and Christophe gathered in the doorway, either unwilling or unable to go any further. The devastation on their faces told him the answer to his question before he even asked it.

“Please,” he said, hoarsely. “Is there a doctor in the castle? Or a healer of any kind?”

Yuko’s mouth trembled but none of them responded.

“Then someone needs to get one,” he snapped. “Pirozhki is at the gates, set out now and-” His voice broke when Otabek cupped his face and gently turned his head to face him again.

“Yuri, it’s...too late,” he groaned.

“Don’t say that,” Yuri yelled. “You’re not allowed to die!” Why wasn’t anybody trying to do anything?

“At least I got to see you again. You and your beautiful eyes.” He broke off and shuddered, trying to regain control over his breath. “You have the eyes of a soldier and I knew….knew you were the one…strong enough.”

Otabek brushed his thumb under Yuri’s eye and wiped away a tear Yuri didn’t know he’d shed. But it wasn’t until his thumb slid down Yuri’s chin that Yuri realized his paw was falling, the last of his strength gone. With one last laboured breath, Otabek’s eyes rolled backwards in his head and the great and he breathed no more.

“No!” Yuri yelled, refusing to believe what had happened. “You can’t leave me!”

But Otabek didn’t respond; couldn’t respond for he was past the point where living voices could still touch him. Cold realization chilled Yuri more than the rain ever could as his brain started to catch up. His tears began to fall freely now, anguish spreading from his heart to fill every part of him, parts he didn’t know he could feel in.

“Please,” he half whispered, shaking as he lowered himself to Otabek’s still chest, “I love you.”

Through his tears, he was half aware of the servants watching the bell jar as the last rose petal fell. He didn’t understand why they were looking at the stupid flower. The curse didn’t matter anymore – nothing mattered anymore. He pressed his face to Otabek’s chest and wept, unable to quell the flow of his grief. Which is why he didn’t notice the first bright flashes of light bursting on the ground.

When he finally opened his eyes enough to see properly, his first thought was that it was raining fire. But as he watched, one of the beams burst against the ground in a shower of sparks, and he realized it was the same odd, sparkly balls that always lingered around the rose. He gazed upwards and found the sky alight with them, the pellets overtaking the rain and filling the sky with light. One of them came too close to Otabek for Yuri to bear and he swatted it away. But instead of the burn he was expecting, the orb was pleasantly warm to the touch. It burst on the ground along with the others, peppering the stone with flecks of gold. More and more of the orbs fell until the balcony was awash in a sea of colours. Then came the smoke.

It wasn’t the acid, tar black smoke that had issued from the remains of his childhood home, nor was it the rich, woody smoke that poured from Yakov’s front when Yuri failed to close his door properly. This smoke was white and so delicate it was barely more than a mist. But as it gathered, it began to rise, taking Otabek with it. Yuri panicked and gripped Otabek’s shirt, ready to fight whatever invisible adversary was trying to take Otabek from him. But there was something friendly in the way the smoke seemed to cradle him, almost in a caress, which convinced Yuri to release his grip.

Whatever held him didn’t lift Otabek very high. He lay prone in mid-air as if waiting for something to happen. Then, without any warning, the wind picked up and blew his cloak out in a great billow. If Yuri had needed any more proof that there was magic at work he now had it, for the cloak stretched out to three times its natural length and wrapped neatly around Otabek, swaddling his body like a butterfly in a cocoon. Yuri watched, transfixed, as the great body shifted beneath the cloak, one massive arm breaking free from the cloth and extending outwards. But the arm no longer ended in paw and claw. A very human hand sat at the end of the arm, light bursting forth from the tips of the fingers. The light was painfully bright to look at, and Yuri scrambled backwards away from the source as the other limbs followed suit. The body continued to rotate, each part becoming more and more human until all that was left to change was the head. In a burst bright enough to rival the sun, light spilled forth around the neck, obscuring Yuri’s view. When he blinked away the spots, all Yuri could see was the cloak lowering a distinctly human shaped figure to the ground. The magic clearly finished, it set the body carefully on the ground where it lay, very still.

Shaken to the core, Yuri leaned forward, terrified of what he might find draped in Otabek’s cloak. The figure moaned and rolled on its side. Yuri lept to his feet, back against a column, ready to fight whatever was getting to its feet. The figure had its back to him and was taller than he was, though Otabek’s clothes fit it poorly and hung loosely on its frame. It seemed to be gazing down at its hands, content to watch the way the fingers flexed and unflexed. Wildly, Yuri wondered if he could make a break for it while the figure had its back turned, because it would surely lose interest in its digits soon. But he had no sooner decided to run when the figure turned to face him.

The man, for it was a man, caught sight of Yuri and smiled at him like they’d been friends all their life. There was such naked affection in the gaze that Yuri felt disoriented, and all plans of escape vanished in confusion. The man took a step towards him and Yuri pressed himself back until his spine was even with the column. To his surprise, the man’s smile didn’t diminish at the gesture, and in fact grew even wider.

“Yuri,” he said in a voice that was almost familiar. “It’s me.”

The voice was higher, but the tenor was the same. The hair was now restricted to just the head, but it was the same two-toned colour as the mane. Yuri took a cautious step forward, not daring to believe but needing to see. The man was standing very still, obviously willing to let Yuri conduct his examination, though his chest was rising and falling rapidly like it was causing him a great deal of pain to do so.

As he closed the distance between them, Yuri took stock of the wide chest and the strong nose. It was conceivable, with a great deal of magical modification, that they could look the same. But it was the eyes, the same warm, honey-brown eyes that he had looked into so many times that finally convinced him.

“It is you,” Yuri sighed, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

He stepped forward and this time Otabek matched him, seemingly unable to hold himself back anymore. They met in the middle, Otabek’s arms finding their way around Yuri’s waist, Yuri’s hand sliding up through Otabek’s hair. Yuri was more than happy to take the lead again and angled Otabek’s head down until it was low enough that he could stand up on tiptoe to kiss him. It seemed Otabek was happy with Yuri’s decision, for he continued to melt against him until Yuri could stand at a normal height again.

Growing up, Yuri had never fantasized what it might be like to kiss someone, largely because there was no one in the village he had wanted to kiss. He had left many parties in his youth in a foul mood due to the village children teasing him over never having kissed anyone. But with Otabek pressed firmly to his front, arms wrapped around Yuri like he was scared to lose him, Yuri had to concede that even the villagers were right once in a blue moon. In fact, Yuri would have been quite thrilled to keeping kissing Otabek for the rest of his life, but it seemed the magic wasn’t done yet, if the shower of sparks that erupted above the castle had anything to say about it.

They broke apart, Otabek looking at little dazed (which Yuri was privately very pleased about), and watched as a spectacularly blue sky burst forth, white clouds with just a hint of pink chasing the black thunder clouds off into the horizon. From the protective cage of Otabek’s arms, Yuri watched as sparks, all golden this time, rained down over the castle and transformed doom and gloom to its original splendour. Where gargoyles once haunted, angels and seraphim stood proudly in their place. Thorny weeds bust open as fresh green shoots coiled up the side of the castle in their place, buds erupting into bloom before their eyes.

“You did it!” cried Yuko, finally hopping out to meet them, Yuuri and Viktor close behind.

One of the sparks caught Viktor on the shoulder and lifted him into the air. The transformation didn’t take nearly as long as Otabek’s had, but worked in much the same way. Limbs shot out where before there was metal and the waxy forehead grew and smoothed out into a fleshy brow. Human Viktor was tall and slim like his bronze counterpart with silver hair that hung over one eye as the wax had done. Yuko went next, stout teapot transformed into a short, brown haired woman with the same kind eyes. Christophe had barely changed from featherduster to man before he flung his arms around her, the two of them dancing together in excitement.

Yuri almost needed to look away from the expression on Viktor’s face as he watched Yuuri transform. It felt like watching a sunrise, for the hope and anticipation on Viktor’s face was nearly blinding. Yuuri was shorter than Viktor but not by much, the square markings on his clock face changed to spectacles. He was a bit plump around the middle and had black hair, but that was all Yuri was able to take in before Viktor had swept him into his arms and began kissing him within an inch of his life.

“Viktor,” Yuuri stammered.

Otabek threw back his head and laughed a rich, booming laugh that Yuri had never heard before and immediately wanted to hear again.

“For once in your life, Yuuri,” he sighed, pulling the mass of limbs that was Yuri and Viktor flush to his chest, “relax and enjoy yourself.”

***

The changes to the outside of the castle were just the beginning. Yuri spent several enjoyable hours wandering the halls hand in hand with Otabek, who was just as eager to see the castle restored, and rediscovering the place he had come to call home. It was a shock to see what some of the servants looked like in their human form. Makkachin, for a start, was a great deal bigger than Yuri had expected, and was tall enough to put both paws on Yuri’s shoulders when he stood on up to lick his face. To Yuri’s great disappointment, Mila was nothing short of beautiful and quite slim, nothing like her formerly boxy self. Yakov on the other hand, was exactly what Yuri had expected, and instead of thanking him for breaking the curse, yelled at both him and Otabek for taking so long.

Once he was able to pry himself off of Yuuri long enough to speak, Viktor had insisted they host a ball immediately to celebrate being human again. Yuri had been all too keen to accept and dragged Otabek outside where they spent a number of enjoyable hours out in the garden, hiding amongst the rhododendrons while the servants prepared the castle. By the time dusk had painted the sky purple and orange, the castle was ready and bore no signs a battle had ever taken place. Koyla had arrived with the good news that J.J. had been caught trying to sneak back into town and had immediately been apprehended by his former army, all bearing various wounds from the battle and all holding him responsible. Koyla hadn’t stuck around long enough to see how it played out, choosing instead to hitch his wagon full of salvageable belongings to his stolen horse, chickens and all, and leaving town for the last time. Yuri was a little disappointed to hear J.J. wasn’t grievously injured, but felt certain that J.J. wouldn’t be showing his face at the castle for a long, long time.

The only guests at the ball apart from Koyla were the servants but they filled the ballroom now nicely that they had taken human form. Otabek had been thrilled to find that his wardrobe had also regained its former shape, and donned the blue coat he had worn the night previously. Viktor had teased Yuri about needing his shirt back, but in the end insisted he keep it as he wanted to match what Yuuri was wearing anyway. Yuri barely noticed the grand decorations in the ballroom, far too distracted by the way Otabek kept laughing and hugging everyone. Everywhere he turned, Yuri saw life had come back to the castle. Yuko, standing arm and arm with a dark haired man he vaguely remembered being an axe. Phichit talking animatedly to Koyla, who looked like he was having the time of his life in a smart green suit. Christophe, a champagne flute in each hand. Yakov, surly as ever but scrubbed clean for the occasion.

In the center of the dance floor, Yuuri and Viktor were swaying together in slow, lazy circles. Viktor’s head was tucked against Yuuri’s neck, his trust in Yuuri unfailable as Yuuri led them around the dance floor. Otabek saw him watching and slung an arm around his shoulder.

“They’re quite good,” he said, lightly. “But I think we can give them a run for their money. Care to find out?”

Yuri smirked and led Otabek onto the dance floor.


End file.
